


Pretty Broken Boys

by Stranger Ships (Imaginary_Boyfriend)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1985, Anal Sex, Awkward Romance, Billy's POV, Bottom Steve, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of banter and cursing, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance, Slow Burn, Upside-Down is referenced but not featured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-02-08 22:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 97,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginary_Boyfriend/pseuds/Stranger%20Ships
Summary: Christmas break is over and Billy decides to try turning over a new leaf during his last semester at Hawkins High. Will Steve notice (and perhaps reward) his efforts, or has Billy already burned too many bridges?





	1. A Big Maybe

**Monday, January 7th, 1985**

When the alarm on Billy’s clock radio blared at seven o'clock, he groaned and reached out from beneath the blankets to fumble for the snooze button. It was deliciously warm under his covers, and he’d been in the middle of a really sexy dream.

The moment he nodded off to sleep again, there was a soft knock on his door accompanied by his stepmother’s gentle voice. 

“Billy? It’s time to get ready for school, dear. You don’t want to be late on the first day.” 

“Yeah,” he mumbled drowsily. “I’m up.”

_In more ways than one._

Shivering in his pajamas and socks, he threw off the covers and reached under his mattress, pulling out an old issue of Playboy. He tucked it discreetly under his arm and walked quickly to the bathroom down the hall, but someone was already inside.

“Hey, hurry up in there,” Billy called, thumping his fist on the door. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Just a minute,” Max grumbled testily from inside. 

“You’d better not be taking a dump.”

“Shut up!”

Billy knew his step-sister was still angry with him; he’d attempted a few half-hearted apologies over the past few weeks, but a frosty tension lingered between them. Most days they managed to avoided one another, but that would be more difficult now that school had resumed.

He knocked on the door again. “Other people live here, too, y’know!” 

He leaned impatiently against the wall, tugging his sweatshirt down to conceal his morning wood. As much as he’d love to go back to bed, burrow under the warm blankets and continue his risqué dream, a part of him actually wanted to go to school.

_I haven’t seen him in weeks. I need to see... I don't know. I just want to see how he's been doing._

The door clicked open and Max stormed past him without a word.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Billy muttered as he went inside, locking the door carefully behind him. 

After taking a long piss, Billy opened the magazine and pulled out a creased page torn from last year’s Hawkins High yearbook. He rested it carefully on the back of the toilet and stood there stroking himself, reaching his unoccupied hand out to touch the small black and white photograph of Steve Harrington.

Closing his eyes, he tried to recall how slutty Steve had looked in his dream, kneeling before him in nothing but briefs and Billy’s black leather jacket. He imagined he was gazing into those pretty, sultry brown eyes and came quickly, exhaling with relief and aiming expertly into the toilet. This had become an almost daily ritual in the past month; it was much tidier this way than taking care of it in bed.

_I’ve gotta get another photo of him, somehow. More recent, and preferably with less clothing._

Back in his bedroom he turned on the radio and dressed quickly, checking his reflection as he pulled on a pair of black fingerless gloves. He applied some cologne and spritzed on some hairspray, coaxing a lock of hair into a bouncy curl.

“Billy!" His father’s voice boomed suddenly from outside his bedroom door. “Quit staring in the mirror and get your ass to school!”

_Shut up, shithead._

He found Max outside, leaning against his blue Camaro. He knew she’d prefer going to school with her friends, but none of them lived quite as far away as she did; it was a long journey by skateboard. 

When they were seated in the car, he finally noticed that her red hair was tied up in a bushy ponytail. 

“That looks nice,” he said, reaching out to touch her hair playfully. “Cute.”

“Don’t,” Max muttered as she pulled away from his hand.

“Alright, alright.” Billy turned on the engine and popped AC/DC’s 'Back in Black' into the tape deck. He adjusted his rearview mirror, briefly checking his teeth and hair. “No shame in putting a little effort in, you know.”

Max rolled her eyes and looked out the window.

_“I’m rolling thunder, I’m pouring rain… I’m coming on like a hurricane.”_

“I thought you’d be in a better mood today,” Billy remarked dryly as he drove down Old Cherry Road. “About to see all your dorky little friends again.”

“Don’t talk about them,” Max said quietly. “Just… don’t, okay?”

“Is that cute hairdo for the Sinclair kid?”

“I mean it, Billy.”

“What, a guy can’t pass the time chatting with his kid sister?” 

“Maybe I’m not in the mood for chatting.”

“No? You on your period, or something?”

“What? No!” She hissed angrily, turning pink. “Shut up!”

He chuckled; she reminded him of a feral orange kitten. Two months ago he would’ve snapped at her for telling him to shut up, but today he let it slide. He’d mellowed considerably in the weeks since that horrible night at the Byers’ house. 

“It’s not funny,” Max sulked, looking down and picking at a hole in her jeans.

“Sure it is. You’re pretty feisty, don’t get me wrong, but it just isn’t as scary without the syringe and nail-studded bat.” 

Max glared straight ahead and refused to look at him. 

“What? Too soon?” Billy rolled his eyes. “I already said I was sorry.”

“Saying sorry isn’t always good enough,” Max said flatly, folding her arms against her chest.

_Jeez, was I this touchy when I was a kid?_

“What more do you want from me, then?” Billy said, crinkling his brow in mock despair. “You want it in writing? I’m not gonna beg. If you don’t want to be friends, then I guess we—”

“What about Lucas?” Max demanded angrily. “You really scared him, you know? You scared all of us. For a minute we thought Steve was _dead_.”

Billy tensed and gripped the steering wheel at the mention of his name. As much as he tried, he couldn’t erase the memory of Steve pinned helplessly beneath him, bloodied and bruised beyond recognition. 

“Did you hear me? His face looked like ground meat.”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Billy mumbled, falling silent for a minute. He preferred not to remember that night, when he had finally snapped, unleashing all his pent-up frustration and rage. 

_I couldn’t get his goddamn pretty face out of my mind so I tried to make it ugly. It didn’t work._

When they were only half a mile from school, Billy noticed a cluster of boys riding bicyles on the road ahead. He glanced over at Max; her eyes widened with worry.

_She really does think I’m some kind of monster, huh?_

“Don’t worry, I won’t try to run over your little friends this time.” He slowed as he passed, yielding half the road to them. “See?”

Max turned around in her seat, looking out the back window.

“Miss your boyfriend?” 

“He’s not—” Max flushed. “That’s none of your beeswax and you know it.”

He didn’t like the idea of her dating anyone, especially at this young age. He knew what guys were usually like and hoped, for Max’s sake, that the Sinclair boy would be different. 

_I know better than anyone that you can’t choose who you fall for._

Billy pulled into the parking lot shared by Hawkins Middle School and Hawkins High. He checked his hair again in the rearview mirror before stepping out of his car. As he watched Max skate off towards the middle school, her unpleasant words about Steve echoed in his mind.

_“His face looked like ground meat… we thought he was dead.”_

Flooded with a fresh wave of guilt, he pulled out his pack of Marlboros and stuck one between his lips. Moments later, he spotted Steve on the opposite side of the parking lot and his heart constricted with unexpected emotion. He took a deep breath before strolling over confidently, tucking the cigarette behind his ear for later.

“Hey, King Steve! Long time, no see.”

Steve slammed the door of his BMW and looked over at him, his eyes narrowing with confusion and concern.

“What the hell do you want, Hargrove?” He asked warily, clutching his books against his chest.

After having to be satisfied with only a tiny yearbook photo for the past few weeks, seeing Steve in person was almost overwhelming. Billy was relieved to see that his face had completely healed.

_Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Does he really think I would try to beat him up again?_

 “Just a truce, that’s all,” he said, flashing the most charming smile in his arsenal and raising two fingers in a peace sign. “A cease-fire.”

“Huh?” Steve stared at him blankly. “You must be shitting me.”

“Nope, no shitting whatsoever,” Billy insisted, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning casually against Steve’s car. “Your face looks a lot better, by the way. Looks good.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Steve said scornfully, turning to walk away. 

“Hey, listen, I’m really sorry about that.” Billy quickly positoned himself in front of Steve, blocking his path. “If you wanna take a swing at me, I’ll give you one free. Hell, I'll give you three. I'll keep my hands behind my back and everything.”

“Not interested,” Steve muttered, trying to maneuver past him.

Billy blocked his way again; their little game of cat-and-mouse excited him. “So… are we cool now?”

“No, we’re not _cool,_ ” Steve hissed, his voice thick with contempt. The few people remaining in the parking lot looked over, presumably wondering if a fight might erupt. 

“I’m trying to mend fences, here, and you just—”

“Look, _pal_ , it’s not me you should be apologizing to, alright? You scared the piss out of those kids, especially Lucas. Go tell them you’re sorry, then maybe we can talk. And that’s a big _maybe_.”

Steve pulled up the hood of his parka and shoved past him roughly. As he stormed down the sidewalk towards Hawkins High, Billy loped leisurely behind, smiling to himself.

_Well, if that’s all it’s gonna take, fine. I suppose it won’t kill me to play nice with those nerds._

“Don’t follow me!” Steve snapped over his shoulder. 

“We go to the same school,” Billy protested innocently, remaining several paces behind Steve so he could better enjoy the view of his shapely little denim-clad ass. 

_What a beauty._

“This semester is going to be the worst ever,” Steve muttered darkly.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing.”

_Hate to disagree with you, pretty boy, but I think it’s already off to a promising start._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for tuning in! I'll try to post a new chapter twice a month. Kudos & comments are always appreciated.


	2. Just Us

**Tuesday, January 8th, 1985**

The following morning Billy rose an hour earlier than usual and went for a long jog along Old Cherry Road. It was dark and bitterly cold, but he didn’t mind; he ran faster to keep warm. The pounding of his heart and the burning ache in his lungs helped drown out thoughts of Steve, who was stuck in Billy’s head like a catchy tune.

_I’m going crazy._

When he returned home, he was greeted by the tempting smells of coffee and bacon and the sound of oldies playing on the kitchen radio. His stepmother was stirring a pot of oatmeal, humming along softly to ‘Sunshine Superman’ by Donovan; she was already dressed, with her long red hair clipped back neatly.

“Oh, hello, Billy." Susan looked over at him and smiled warmly. “You’re up early.”

“Just getting a little fresh air,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow with the towel he had hung around his neck.

_“...I’ll pick up your hand and slowly blow your little mind, when you’ve made your mind up forever to be mine.”_

“Are you hungry? I’m fixing some breakfast.”

“In a minute, yeah, thanks,” he replied absently as he hurried down the hall to take a shower before Max woke up and commandeered the bathroom.

As he stepped beneath the steaming hot water, he thought of the gym class showers where he had to concentrate on not getting hard and pretend he wasn’t looking at Steve’s body. He liked to imagine what might happen if all the other boys disappeared, and he could stop pretending.

_Just us... just you and me._

Billy closed his eyes and reached down to stroke himself with soapy, slippery hands; he groaned quietly as he imagined his cock sliding inside Steve’s shy, hot mouth.

“That’s it, babe,” he whispered hoarsely, stroking faster. “Right there.”

He pictured Steve’s pretty brown eyes looking up longingly at him and came in a sudden rush, shuddering and leaning forward to rest his forehead on the cool, wet tiles. 

_He’s making me so fucking crazy._

He finished washing hastily and stepped out into the steamy bathroom, swiping his towel over the the fogged-up mirror to study his reflection. He turned to the side, flexing his biceps and clenching his abdominal muscles.

_Not too shabby. Could be better, though._

Narrowing his eyes critically, he noted how much his tan had faded since he’d left California. He wasn’t satisfied with the size of his arms, either, and resolved to lift weights twice as often and start taking a jog every morning. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to imagine that he was a few inches taller.

 _My old man is six feet tall; maybe I’m not finished growing yet._  

“You almost done in there?” Max asked impatiently, rapping her knuckles against the door. “I’ve gotta pee.”

He wrapped a towel around his waist and returned to his room to get dressed. He despised how cold it was here in Indiana; he liked to wear his shirts unbuttoned, with just a denim or leather jacket and jeans, but that was a difficult look to pull off during these frigid midwestern winter months. 

He pulled on his lucky red underwear, thick wool socks, tight jeans, a warm shirt, a black hooded sweatshirt, then added his favorite denim jacket. After he had perfected his hair and put on his silver earring, he headed for the kitchen, his black leather boot-steps echoing in the hallway.

His father, Neil Hargrove, was reading the newspaper at the head of the kitchen table. He had switched off the music and Susan and Max were finishing their breakfast in silence. 

Billy didn’t want to sit down; he reached over Max’s shoulder to steal her last strip of bacon and washed it down with a glass of orange juice.

“C’mon, squirt. Let’s not be late.”

“It’s not like you to care about punctuality,” his father remarked dryly without looking up from behind the newspaper. “What’s gotten into you today?”

“Maybe he has a special someone waiting for him,” Susan said, smiling over her mug of coffee.

_Oh, he’s pretty special, all right._

“He should be worrying more about keeping his grades up, and not his little pecker.”

“Neil!” Susan set down her mug, looking scandalized.

_Fuck you too, Dad._

“See you guys later,” Billy mumbled as he set his glass in the sink and headed out the door, slamming it behind him. 

Max followed soon after, sighing as she tossed her backpack and skateboard into the car.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” she muttered.

“You seem down,” he persisted as he drove down the street. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I just…” Max trailed off, looking out the window. “I heard them fighting again last night.”

“Oh.” 

Billy didn’t know what to say to make her feel better about that particular issue. He heard the arguments, too, of course; it was usually his father’s voice raised above the quieter protests of his stepmother. Sometimes it was about bills or the mortgage, and other times it was about politics; Neil didn't like it when Susan talked too much about feminism or civil rights.

_Whatever his issues are, I wish he would keep them to himself. Max doesn't need to grow up hearing her mom getting shouted at like that._

He rounded a corner and slowed, scanning the road.

“What are you looking for?” Max asked warily.

“Your little friends,” Billy said matter-of-factly. “I’ve got something to tell—”

“Please don’t embarrass me,” Max pleaded.

“Hey, I think that’s them up there.” Billy squinted at the road ahead. “Roll down your window.”

He slowed the Camaro to a crawl behind the kids, and when Lucas turned around and saw him, he hastily reached out to poke one of his friends. Billy didn’t know any of their names except Lucas; he was pretty easy to remember.

The kids stopped their bikes and shuffled over to the edge of the road, looking apprehensively at Billy through the car’s open window.

“Morning, boys,” Billy said cheerfully, leaning over Max so he could see out the passenger window. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Glancing briefly at each of their confused faces, he realized one of the boys was actually a girl he didn’t recognize. She had short, curly brown hair, and the look in her eyes as she stared back unsettled him.

_There’s something different about that one._

“Hey, Max,” Lucas said uneasily, glancing from her to Billy. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s absolutely fine,” Billy answered for her. He spoke loudly to be heard over the purr of the idling engine.

_Time for me to eat some humble pie._

“Listen, I don’t wanna make you kids late for cursive class or whatever, so I’ll make this quick. I wanted to… apologize, for that night. Things got out of hand, and it won’t happen again.”

He looked directly at Lucas Sinclair, who stared back defiantly with intense dislike in his eyes.

_That’s good, kid. Never back down. Never show your fear._

“Really?” Lucas asked with a skeptical frown.

“Yeah,” Billy said slowly. “You have my word.”

“Well, whatever. We gotta go.” Lucas signaled to his friends and they began pedaling away.

Max slumped down in her seat as they drove past.

“That was so weird,” she mumbled, looking out the window. 

“What’s weird? I thought you’d be happy.”

Max narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What’s going on with you?”

“Maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

Max smiled skeptically. “You have been _slightly_ less shitty lately, it’s true…”

“Alright, smartass. Just thank your lucky stars I didn’t press charges.”

“For what?”

“For grand theft auto, genius. You and your joyriding buddies should be glad you didn’t end up in juvie.”

“Yeah, right.” Max rolled her eyes. “Chief Hopper wouldn’t do that.”

“Maybe so. Either way, you’re lucky you didn’t crash my Camaro, or I’d be the one getting locked up... for murdering a bunch of kids.” Billy raised his eyebrows at her and shook his head with mock disapproval. “Where the hell did you all need to go, anyway, that was so important?”

“We had to, um… get Steve to the emergency room.” Max turned her face away, looking out the window.

“Oh. Right.”

The thought depressed Billy. He pictured Steve, battered and bruised, slumped lifelessly in a wheelchair in a dreary hospital waiting room.

_All my fault._

“Look,” he said slowly. “You might annoy the hell out of me sometimes, but I don’t want you to be… _afraid_ of me, okay?”

“Then stop being scary.”

Billy nodded solemnly. “I’m working on it.”

..............................

Later, when he saw Steve in the school parking lot, Billy immediately put his arm around Max’s shoulder, tugging her into a clumsy bear hug. 

“What the hell...?” Max muttered, nearly dropping her skateboard in surprise.

Billy rumpled her hair affectionately and patted her on the back before she walked away.

“Have a great day at school, kiddo,” he called after her loudly, glancing over at Steve. “See you at three!”

_Good, I think he saw that._

In English class, they had a substitute teacher who announced that the students would be divided into pairs to work on their 'Tess of the D’Urbervilles' presentations. Billy wasn’t religious, but he said a hasty prayer on the off-chance there really was someone upstairs pulling the strings.

_Please, please pair me with Steve. I’ll be good forever if you put me with Steve. Maybe I’ll even start going to church. Okay, maybe not that…_

“William Hargrove?” Mrs. Cuthbert looked up from her clipboard, scanning the classroom.

“It’s Billy,” he said, raising his hand lazily and trying to look utterly unconcerned.

“You’ll be working with Steven.”

 _Hell yeah, it worked!_  

Billy glanced over at Steve, choosing to ignore the obvious look of alarm on his face. When the bell rang, he caught up with him in the hallway.

“What do you want?” Steve asked as he fiddled with the combination on his locker.

“We’re project partners now. Besides, I thought you might like to know that I, um… did what you said.”

“What?” Steve looked puzzled as he shoved his book in his locker. “What’d I say?”

“To apologize to the kids. So I did, just this morning.”

“Seriously?” Steve slammed his locker closed and leaned back against it with his arms crossed. “Lucas, too?”

“Yes, seriously. Lucas, too.” Billy cleared his throat self-consciously, hoping he looked sufficiently penitent and contrite. “You can ask my step-sister if you don’t believe me.”

“It did seem like you were being more civil to her this morning.”

“Civil?” Billy scoffed. “I’ve been the very picture of an ideal big brother.”

“Well, good.” Steve nodded slowly, looking skeptical. “I’m not sure I believe you, but... good.”

“So, my place or yours?” Billy asked with a suggestive wink as they continued down the hallway.

“Pardon?” Steve said sharply. 

“We gotta meet up to work on our project, right?”

“Does that have to be decided right now? It’s not due for over a week.”

“No time like the present. So… your place?”

“No,” Steve said hastily, glancing over his shoulder at him. “Um, your house should be fine.”

Billy nodded, concealing his disappointment. He really wanted to see where Steve lived, but decided he should be glad Steve hadn’t insisted they just go to the library or something.

_Can’t do anything fun at the library._

“How about Thursday after school?” Billy suggested casually.

“Um, yeah, sure,” Steve said distractedly, gesturing towards a nearby classroom. “Look, can we talk about this later? I’m gonna be late for Spanish, so…”

“Hasta luego, then.”

Billy didn’t care that he was five minutes late to U.S. History and the teacher scolded him in front of the whole class; he was busy wondering how he could make sure he and Steve would have the house to themselves for a few hours on Thursday.

_Just us, alone for once. That’s all I ask._

 


	3. Sweet as Pie

**Thursday, January 10th, 1985**

On Thursday afternoon, Billy dropped Max off at the arcade with a plastic baggie full of quarters and strict instructions to stay away from the house until dinnertime.

“How am I supposed to get back?” She’d demanded indignantly. “It’s too far to skate.”

“I don’t care, ask one of your buddies for a lift.”

“Oh, like Lucas?”

“Sure,” Billy had said, smirking at her surprised expression. “You wanna ride on the back of your little boyfriend’s bike, that’s fine. Just stay safe, and stay away until five-thirty, okay?”

“Who’s coming over, anyway?” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Is it a girl, or a b—”

“Hey, you want me to take those quarters back, or what?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Nevermind.”

“That’s better.” And he’d sped away, anxious to get home in time to freshen up and do some last-minute tidying in his room.

When Steve rang the doorbell at four, Billy left him waiting on the porch for a minute while he applied some cologne and fluffed out his wavy curls. He didn’t want to appear too eager.

“Hey, Harrington,” he said casually when he finally opened the door. “C’mon in.”

Steve pulled off his Ray-Bans and stepped inside, looking around as he slipped off his parka. 

“Cool fireplace,” he said, nodding towards the green monstrosity.

“I think the previous owners are responsible for that,” Billy laughed. “Pretty bad, huh?”

“No, no, it’s great,” Steve deadpanned, running his hand over the large glass container of seashells decorating the mantle. “I’m gonna tell my mom we’ve got to paint ours green, too.”

“You want anything to drink?”

“What do you have?” Steve asked as he followed Billy to the kitchen.

“We’ve got beer, Pepsi, iced tea, Capri Sun…” 

“What flavor?” Steve peered curiously inside the fridge. “Oh, is that grape?”

“Seriously, dude?” Billy had only mentioned the Capri Sun as a joke; his stepmother bought them for Max.

“Why not?” Steve shrugged, taking a pouch of juice from the fridge and impaling it with the pointy end of the straw. He took a sip and smiled appreciatively. “We didn't have this in the seventies but it still makes me nostalgic, somehow. Tastes like childhood.”

"Well, I prefer the taste of adulthood." Billy cracked open a cold can of Budweiser and bumped it against Steve’s pouch of Capri Sun. “Cheers, man.”

_I’m gonna dream of sweet, grape-flavored kisses tonight._

“Is Max here?” Steve asked suddenly, glancing around. "Or... anyone?"

“She’ll be at the arcade ’til dinner. My dad and stepmom usually get home from work around five or six. Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Steve said, running his hand through his hair. “Should we, um, talk about our presentation?”

“Probably a good idea, yeah. C’mon.” 

Billy led the way to his bedroom, barely able to mask his excitement. He sat down next to his desk, on the only chair in the room; when Steve stood awkwardly in the doorway, Billy gestured towards his bed.

“Make yourself at home.”

Steve slowly crossed the room and sat down uncertainly, the mattress creaking beneath his weight.

_Oh my god, he’s on my bed. Steve fucking Harrington is sitting on my bed._

He imagined himself shoving Steve down onto the pillows and pinning his hands above his head. Running his fingers through that gorgeous mane of thick, silky hair. Looking deep into his pretty brown eyes.

In need of a distraction, Billy opened his desk drawer and pulled out his English notebook and a worn copy of 'Tess of the d’Urbervilles'.

“You didn’t even bring yours, did you?” He shook his head at Steve with mock disapproval. “What a slacker.”

“Yeah, I forgot it in my locker,” he admitted sheepishly. “I figured you’d have a copy.”

“It’s fine. I’ve already read it, anyway.”

“Really?” Steve took a long, noisy sip of Capri Sun, flattening the pouch to drain the last drops of juice.

“Yeah,” Billy said, trying not to stare at the way his lips pursed around the straw. “We were supposed to read it over winter break, you know.”

Steve groaned wearily. “It’s like, five hundred pages long, though. Isn’t there a movie?”

“I think so. Why, should we rent it?”

_Hell yeah, we could rent it on video and make out on the couch..._

Steve cleared his throat. “If you’ve already read it, you could just tell me what happens.”

Billy leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “Alright, you want a summary? Imagine the saddest story you can, and then multiply that by a hundred.”

“Why do English teachers like to assign these depressing books?” Steve grumbled. “'The Scarlett Letter' was sad, too. And 'The Crucible', and 'Madame Bovary'…”

“'Tess' is sadder than all of those combined. I dunno why, but all these author dudes really seem to get off on writing books about chicks with miserable lives.” Billy shrugged. “At least Hester’s baby didn’t die in 'The Scarlet Letter'.”

“What? Tess has a baby and it dies?”

“Her rape baby, yeah.”

“Rape…? Jesus Christ, that _is_ depressing.”

They discussed the events in the story for over half an hour, until Billy couldn't stand the tension any longer; he stood up and walked over to the bed, handing his composition book and dog-eared copy of 'Tess of the d’Urbervilles' to Steve as he sat down next to him. His Levi’s were tight enough to keep his stiffening dick flat, but it was distractingly uncomfortable, and it would be awkward if Steve noticed.

“The teacher asked us to include a favorite quote from the book, so I wrote down a few possibilities.” He was only a foot away from Steve, and the palpable electricity sizzling between them filled him with lewd, tempting thoughts.

_I wonder what he’d do if I just slid my hand up his thigh and pushed him down and—_

“Ah, literature,” Steve muttered as he flipped through the first few pages of Billy’s notebook. “Why use five words when you can use fifty, right?”

Billy leaned over and pointed to the middle of a page. When their arms brushed together, he could feel the warmth of Steve’s body through his sleeve. 

"How about this one?"

Steve flinched slightly at Billy’s touch; clearing his throat nervously, he began to read aloud.

“Her affection for him was now the breath and life of Tess’ being; it enveloped her as a photosphere, irradiated her into forgetfulness of her past sorrows, keeping back the gloomy spectres that would persist in their attempts to touch her— doubt, fear, moodiness, care, shame…”

Billy watched Steve’s lips forming the elegant words and fought a sudden desire to lean over and kiss the moles on his neck. He’d seen him in the showers after gym class; he knew those irresistible dots were scattered all over his body. He’d dreamt about planting kisses on each one, maybe even counting them and choosing favorites.

“…She knew that they were waiting like wolves just outside the circumscribing light, but she had long spells of power to keep them in hungry… subjection… there…”

Steve trailed off and looked down uncertainly, his soft brown eyes wide and bewildered. Billy had rested his hand right next to Steve’s leg, brushing his pinkie very lightly against his thigh.

“Um… Billy?” He spoke almost too softly to be heard. “What are you doing?”

Billy looked directly into his eyes. “I could ask you the same thing.” 

Steve’s brow crinkled in confusion. “B-but I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly,” Billy murmured quietly, holding his gaze. “Not pulling away, not telling me to stop…”

Steve looked away quickly, biting his lower lip as his cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink.

_God, I want you so much._

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door and it swung open with a noisy bang; Mr. Hargrove loomed in the doorway, scowling with disapproval. Startled, Steve leapt up from the bed and Billy angrily crossed his arms against his chest.

_Great timing, asshole._

“I don’t like closed doors in my house,” Neil Hargrove said irritably.

“Is it five-thirty already—”

“Closed doors mean funny business,” Neil ignored Billy, sniffing the air suspiciously. “You boys aren’t smoking dope in here, are you?”

“No, sir,” Billy muttered, looking down at his boots.

“Who’s this?” His father nodded curtly in Steve’s direction.

“I’m Steve Harrington,” he said politely, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“I’m sure it is,” Neil Hargrove said dryly, turning to leave without shaking Steve’s hand. “Leave this door open, if you’re staying.”

Steve was left standing awkwardly next to Billy’s desk, still holding his composition book.

“Maybe I’d better go home… we can work on this more next week.”

Billy stood up slowly and sighed. “Sorry about him. Manners aren’t really his thing.”

_Goddamnit, Dad. I really hate you sometimes._

Reluctantly, he led Steve back towards the front of the house; as they passed the kitchen, Susan called out to them.

“Would you like to stay for supper, Steve? I’m making lasagna and salad.”

Steve hesitated and glanced over at Billy, who shrugged.

“There’s key lime pie for dessert, too,” she added.

“Um… well, that’s very nice of you, Mrs. Hargrove.”

_This should be interesting._

“You’re welcome to use our phone, dear; why don’t you call your mom to let her know?”

“Oh, okay.” Steve smiled politely. “Thanks.”

Half an hour later, Max came home from the arcade, and they all sat down around the dining room table. Billy could tell that his father was in a particularly foul mood and hoped he wouldn’t say anything embarrassing.

“So, what sort of project have you boys been working on?” Susan asked as she passed a basket of bread.

“We have to do a presentation for English class,” Steve said, taking a roll from the basket and passing it to Billy. “Are you familiar with 'Tess of the d’Urbervilles'? That’s the book we were assigned to read over winter break.”

“Tess who?” Billy’s father scoffed. “What kind of sissified books have they got you kids reading these days?”

“I don’t think I ever read that one,” Susan said, chewing thoughtfully. “We had to read another Thomas Hardy book when I was in college, though. 'Jude the Obscure', I think it was called. Very dreary.”

“What’s in this?” Neil Hargrove asked suddenly, examining a forkful of lasagna distastefully.

“Turkey,” Susan responded.

“They were all out of beef at the supermarket?”

“What?” Susan said warily. She was familiar with her husband’s taciturn ways. “No, but turkey was on sale this week, and I’ve read that it’s much healthier—”

“Next time, get beef. This is pretty damn dry.” 

_Really? He couldn’t act nice and normal for one damn meal?_

“I think it’s delicious, Mrs. Hargrove,” Steve said, smiling encouragingly at her as he took an enthusiastic mouthful. 

“Thank you, dear.”

“Yeah, Mom, it’s tasty,” Max said, glaring at her stepfather.

An awkward silence fell over the table, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware and the ticking of the clock on the wall. They were all startled when the phone rang.

“Now, who could that be, calling at dinnertime?” Susan wondered aloud as she hurried into the next room to answer it.

Billy glanced over at Steve, who was trying to spear a cherry tomato with his fork. 

_I wonder what meals are like at his house._

“Shit…” Max muttered when she dropped a blob of tomato sauce down the front of her sweater.

“Watch your language, young lady,” Neil said sternly, wiping salad dressing from his moustache with a napkin.

Susan returned to the room a minute later, dabbing a tissue at the corners of her eyes.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Max asked.

“My uncle… uh, he had a heart attack,” Susan sniffled, blowing her nose discreetly. “He’s in the hospital, and they’re not sure if he’ll pull through. I think I’ve got to go see him.”

“Which uncle?” Neil asked with a frown. “Do I know him?”

“My Uncle Andy, in Pasadena. You met him once, remember?”

“Not that I recall,” her husband answered gruffly. “Will we all go?”

“I’d rather the kids didn’t miss school,” Susan said slowly, looking at Billy and Max. “They didn’t really know him, and that’s a lot of plane tickets to pay for. I’d just like it if you came with me, honey; you know I don’t like traveling alone.”

Neil tossed his napkin on the table and stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. 

“Well, if that’s what it’s got to be, that’s what it’s got to be,” he muttered, walking to the phone. “I’ll call the airline, see if we can book a couple of last-minute seats to California. Can’t say it isn’t a damned nuisance, though.”

Everyone seemed to relax a little when he left the room. It suddenly occured to Billy that he'd probably made a lot of people feel that way, too: happier when he wasn’t there.

 _I don’t want that. I don’t want to be like him._  

“I’m sorry about your uncle, Mrs. Hargrove,” Steve said simply, smiling sympathetically.

“Thank you, Steve. I appreciate that, and I'm sorry you've had to witness this little family crisis.”

“I don’t really remember Great-Uncle Andy, but I hope he doesn’t die,” Max said, staring gloomily at her unfinished salad.

“Well, he’s had a good, long life, sweetie, and nobody lives forever. I just hope he isn’t in too much pain. Billy, I can count on you to take good care of Maxine, can’t I?” Susan asked, walking over to pick up her husband’s dirty plate and napkin. “Make sure she gets to school on time and doesn’t stay too long at the arcade, okay?”

Billy smiled warmly. “Sure, Susan. I’ll look after her.”

When Neil Hargrove returned a few minutes later after calling the local airport, he looked sternly at Billy.

“Our flight returns on Monday afternoon. Now, I don’t want any shenanigans going on under my roof while we’re gone. No dates, no parties, no smoking, no nonsense. And you’d better take good care of your sister, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He sat back down at the table, looking up expectantly at his wife. “So, where’s that key lime pie?”

Susan hurried off to the kitchen, and Steve stood up from the table.

“Well, thank you so much for having me, sir. The meal was wonderful.” 

Neil Hargrove gave him an unpleasant look, and Billy wanted to punch him.

_What the fuck is his problem?_

“Aren’t you staying for pie, Steve?” Susan asked when they carried their plates and forks into the kitchen. She was listening to 'Our House' by CSNY on her little kitchen radio. 

“No thank you, Mrs. Hargrove,” he answered politely, patting his stomach. “I’m stuffed full of that delicious lasagna, but thanks all the same.”

“Well, you’re welcome any time, dear. I’m glad our Billy has found a friend as nice as you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy muttered, embarrassed. “Let’s go.”

As he showed Steve out the door, they paused in the shelter of the covered front porch.

Steve pulled a knit hat from his pocket and tugged it down over his ears. “So, let me guess... you’re gonna throw a party, right?”

“I’m not sure...” Billy pulled the door closed so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Would you come if I did?”

“Would you still throw one if I didn’t?”

Billy looked sharply at Steve. “What kind of question is that?”

“I don’t know why I said that,” Steve said slowly, avoiding his gaze. “But… you _were_ acting pretty weird earlier.”

_Weird? Damnit._

Billy sighed, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets and looking down at his boots. “So… if I promise not to act weird at the party, will you come?”

Steve was quiet for a moment. He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around him. “When is it?”

Billy thought quickly. “Oh, um… how about Saturday at eight?”

“I think I can make that work, probably,” Steve said, nodding as he began to walk down the front path to where he’d parked his car. “Well, I’m heading out. Later, Hargrove.”

“See you Saturday, then.”

When Billy stepped back inside, Max was watching MTV. She looked up from the couch and smirked.

“Are you guys, like… best friends now, or something?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “We have to do an English presentation together, that’s all.”

“Isn’t it awkward, doing a class project with a guy you once beat up?”

Billy shrugged. “Not especially. He hit me too, remember?”

“Because you deserved it.” Max narrowed her eyes at him. “Steve is pretty cool. You’d better be nice to him.”

Billy chuckled all the way back to his room, his mind racing with plans for the party.

_Oh, I’ll be nice to him, all right. Sweet as pie._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying it so far. Your kudos and kind comments are SO appreciated. :)


	4. The Party

**Saturday, January 12th, 1985**

On Saturday morning, Billy drove to the Hawkins liquor store to buy beer with his fake ID; he didn’t want to waste too much of the money he’d saved from his summer job on a dumb keg, so he picked up a few dozen cans of Budweiser instead. At the last minute, he decided to buy a package of Skittles, too; Max loved them.

Billy and his stepsister had enjoyed having the house to themselves for the past twenty-four hours; the previous night they had ordered a pepperoni pizza for dinner and stayed up late watching TV. 

He returned home from the store to find Max sitting on the couch in her pajamas, eating a bowl of cereal and watching Saturday morning cartoons. She smiled when Billy tossed the pack of Skittles onto her lap.

“Why are you being so nice lately?” She asked, putting her empty cereal bowl down and pouring a few candies into her palm. “Is this a bribe or something?”

“Well, it’s funny you should ask,” Billy replied casually, flopping down next to her on the sofa and resting his feet on the coffee table. “I’m having a get-together tonight; I just bought a bunch of beer. The thing is, people might feel weird with a thirteen-year-old kid hanging around, so—”

“So you need me to get lost until it’s over, right?” Max sighed, putting the candy aside and picking up the remote control. “What if your stupid party lasts until midnight, though? The arcade won’t be open, and I can’t stay that late at Lucas or Mike’s house…”

“Don’t you have any friends that aren’t boys?” Billy asked absently, twining a lock of hair around his finger as he considered the possibilities. “Maybe… hey, you could have a sleepover with that weird girl who doesn’t talk.”

“She’s not _that_ weird,” Max protested, flipping through the channels. “And she _does_  talk, just not to you. Her name is El— I mean, Jane.”

Billy reached out to steal some of Max’s Skittles. “Alright, so where does little ‘El-Jane’ live?”

“Chief Hopper adopted her, so she lives with him now.”

“A cop, huh?” Billy nodded slowly with approval. “Well, that sounds like a safe enough place for you to spend the night. You should call her, see if it’s cool.”

“Um… okay.” Max looked at him uncertainly. “Aren’t you afraid of what your dad will do if he finds out?”

“Not really,” Billy shrugged. “They won’t be back until Monday.”

He stood up from the couch and stretched. “I’m gonna go bring that beer in from the car. Make sure you brush your teeth after eating all that sugar, okay?”

A few hours later, Billy dropped Max off at the Hopper residence. It was a modest house on the edge of town, right next to the lake.

“Don’t do anything too crazy,” Max said sternly as she got out of the car, hoisting her backpack over her shoulder. “And don’t let people trash the house too much, okay? There’s no way I’m gonna help you mop up piss and puke tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy smirked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Why don’t you worry about your algebra homework and let me worry about the party.”

Max grimaced at the mention of her least-favorite subject. “I don’t get prime factorizations _at all_. Will you help me tomorrow?”

“Sure, kiddo. Now, be good and have fun painting each other’s nails and gossiping and shit.”

Max stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t let anyone do anything perverted in my room.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow!” Billy called as he sped away. He wanted to go home and get ready for the party.

He spent the next few hours taking a shower, choosing an outfit, doing his hair and listening to music in his room. He unplugged his boom box and lugged it into the front room, along with a few tapes. At the last minute, he wrote ‘Do not enter OR ELSE’ on three sheets of notebook paper and taped them outside the three bedroom doors in the house.

 _If people want to get laid tonight, they can do it somewhere else._  

At half-past eight, the doorbell rang and he pulled open the door to find nine teenagers clustered on his porch; several of them carried party offerings: a large bag of pretzels, a bottle of vodka, two canisters of Pringles, a bottle of cranberry juice, a bag of red plastic cups. One girl had even brought a black permanent marker so people could tell their drinks apart by writing their names on them.

He had only invited about a dozen people, but word had spread like wildfire and within half an hour his small house was packed with local high-schoolers. A few kids gathered around the boombox, bickering as they switched between radio stations; they cheered when ‘Jump’ by Van Halen began to play.

Billy looked over just in time to see Steve coming in the front door, glancing curiously around the room. A petite girl Billy didn’t recognize came in after him and looped her arm through his; she stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

_Wait, who the hell is that?_

Their eyes met across the room; Steve waved and gave him a strange half-smile. Billy pushed past people as he made his way towards him.

He bumped into a boy with brown hair and lots of freckles and realized it was Tommy, the obnoxious kid from their gym class. From what Billy had heard, Tommy and Steve used to be good friends, but now they were adversaries.

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Heard there was a party, so I came by to check it out,” Tommy replied defensively, cracking open a can of Budweiser. “It’s a free country.”

“Not when you’re on private property and drinking someone else’s beer, dumbass. Anyway, I sure as shit didn’t invite you, so fuck off.” Billy snatched the can from Tommy’s hand and shoved past him, making a beeline towards Steve.

“Hey, man.” Steve waved, speaking loudly to be heard over the music. “Good party so far?”

“Yeah, fantastic,” Billy responded flatly, staring at Steve’s buxom companion. “Who’s this?”

Steve smiled uneasily. “Oh, this is Kimberly Gilbert. She’s a junior, so you probably haven’t met.” 

_Why the hell did he have to bring her?_

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kimberly,” Billy said stiffly, barely able to conceal his annoyance.

“Hey, Billy,” she said shyly, eyeing him up and down. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Billy said nonchalantly, taking a long sip of beer and raising his eyebrows at Steve. “Good things, I hope.”

“Are you kidding? This useless guy won’t tell me anything about you,” Kimberly giggled, glancing up at Steve and elbowing him playfully in the ribs. “I’ve had to get my intel elsewhere.”

“Intel? Jesus, girls are scary,” Steve laughed and swept his hand over his thick, glossy hair.

_He's so gorgeous when he smiles._

“Well, you two lovebirds have fun. There’s vodka and beer in the back,” he said with forced politeness as he brushed past Steve, pretending he had somewhere else to be. When he glanced back over his shoulder, Kimberly and Steve were getting drinks in the kitchen.  

_Well, this blows._

Billy tipped his beer back and crumpled the empty can in his fist, flinging it angrily into the fireplace. Someone had switched the boombox to the FM radio and ‘Where Did Our Love Go’ by Soft Cell was playing. The upbeat love song pissed Billy off, and he stormed down the hall to his room to rummage around in the shoebox where he kept his cassette tapes.

_“…Please don’t leave me all by myself, I’ve got this burning, burning, yearning feeling inside me, and it hurts so bad…”_

He returned with ‘Kill ‘Em All’ and elbowed his way past people to the boombox, switching off ‘Where Did Our Love Go’ and popping in his Metallica tape.

_Much better._

He turned up the volume, raised his fists in the air and whooped loudly; the angry metal and snarling vocals suited his mood perfectly.

A girl with crimped hair who had been dancing nearby made a face and plugged her ears. 

“Why’d you change the station, Billy? Nobody wants to dance to that racket,” she yelled, her voice drowned by the music.

“Racket? This is art!” Billy shouted back over the frenetic drumming. “You wanna listen to cheesy love songs and shit, go somewhere else.”

He glanced up and caught Steve’s eye from across the crowded room; Steve gave Billy a strange look and leaned down to say something to Kimberly. She nodded and walked away, waving to some girls who had just come in the front door. 

_Wish I could just tell everyone to leave._

Steve picked his jacket up off the back of the couch and nodded in the direction of the kitchen. Billy followed, curiosity piqued.

_This could either be good or bad… probably not good._

“Oh, there’s my drink,” Steve muttered, picking up a red plastic cup off the counter. He’d scrawled his name on it in black permanent marker. 

“What’s that?” Billy asked as he grabbed a beer from the nearly-empty box in the fridge.

“Vodka and cranberry juice,” Steve replied, cocking an eyebrow as though daring Billy to ridicule his choice of beverage. He pulled on a pair of knit gloves and headed for the back door. “I thought we could go someplace quieter, to talk. Maybe have a quick smoke.”

_He’ll probably just tell me I’m gross and I should back the hell off._

Outside it was bitterly cold, and they shivered in their jackets. The tiny back porch overlooked the driveway and backyard; there was a staircase hugging the side of the house that led down to the driveway, which was packed with cars. A single light bulb illuminated the porch, leaving the rest of the backyard shrouded in darkness.

Billy pulled out his pack of Marlboros and offered one to Steve, who thanked him and set his drink down carefully, tucking the cigarette between his lips. 

_I want to kiss that mouth so badly._

Steve looked sheepishly at Billy as he patted his pockets. “Sorry, uh… can I borrow a light?”

“Yeah, here.” Billy flipped open his Zippo and extended it, watching Steve intently as he bent towards the small flame. 

Steve inhaled deeply and blew a plume of smoke up into the black, star-speckled sky. “I was wondering…” 

“Yeah?”

“That night in November, at the Byers’ house… what happened after we left?”

 _That’s really what he wants to talk about?_  

“There’s not much to tell,” he shrugged, recalling the events of that strange evening. “I woke up with a headache and blood on my face, lying in a house I didn’t recognize. I saw all these crazy drawings taped all over the place, a syringe on the floor… I wanted to get the hell out of there, but my keys were gone along with my Camaro, so what else could I do? I hoofed it all the way home. End of story.”

“You didn’t… look in the fridge, did you?”

_What a weird question._

“Um… no? Why would—”

“And wasn’t your dad pissed when you came home without Max? She was the whole reason you came over in the first place.”

“I can handle that old prick just fine, don’t worry.”

_He smacked me across the room, but I’m not gonna bug you with that stuff._

They stood there smoking in companionable silence for a few moments. Billy hopped up onto the porch railing, balancing carefully and swinging his legs to keep warm. 

“What are we doing out here, freezing our nuts off?” Steve asked suddenly. “Shouldn’t you be in there, doing keg stands?”

“Shouldn’t you be in there, dancing with your girlfriend?” Billy retorted dryly. “If your nuts are so damn cold, why’d you ask me to come out here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something…” Steve took a long sip of his drink and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about the other day, at your house… I wasn’t trying to give you the wrong idea.”

_And here it comes…_

“So bringing a cute date along was you trying to give me the right idea, is that it?”

“Kimberly and I aren’t… I wasn’t…” Steve shook his head, stumbling over his words. He took a deep breath and looked up at Billy, his eyes shining golden in the hazy glow of the porch light. “I didn’t mean to lead you on. Really.” 

_God, he’s beautiful. It’s unbearable._

“Don’t lead me on, then.” Billy met his gaze, staring down at him. “Give me a chance.”

“W-what?” Steve choked on the swig he’d just taken and glanced around nervously. 

“Live a little,” Billy said simply, exhaling a plume of smoke. He kept his expression cool and unemotional, despite the hammering of his heart. “Get to know me.”

“But I’m not… I-I don’t like guys.” Steve glanced down at his cup; his cheeks were pink, either from embarrassment or the cold.

“You don’t have to like guys,” Billy said in a low voice as he hopped down lightly from the porch railing. “Just me.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he looked up quickly. “That’s… you’re… this is—”

The door suddenly opened and Kimberly poked her head out, looking annoyed.

_Why are we always getting interrupted? Go away, for fuck’s sake._

“Steve, what the heck are you doing out here in the cold? Are you coming in soon?”

“Uh, yeah. I was just having a smoke, that’s all.” Steve looked away; he sounded tired.

“Whatever, party pooper,” Kimberly said, shutting the door behind her. 

“Why did you have to bring her?” Billy mumbled under his breath.

“What?” Steve looked at him with pain in his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Billy, I don’t know, I… I really can’t think straight right now.”

He tipped his cup back, draining the last of his drink with a grimace and stubbed out his cigarette.

“I don’t… I don’t feel so good.” His voice was thick and slurred. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom… I’ll be… right back.”

“Go ahead. I’ll be here.” Billy pulled another cigarette from his pack, admiring Steve’s long, slim legs as he opened the door and went back inside. Someone had changed the music again, and the sounds of ‘Rebel, Rebel’ by David Bowie grew louder, then diminished as the door closed.  

_He should wear those black jeans more often. Someday I'll find out what size he wears and buy him some nice, tight ones…_

He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply, tipping his face back to blow a white plume of smoke into the air; it slowly dissipated in the dark night sky. He wasn’t drunk, just slightly buzzed and more than a little on edge.

_He’s too chickenshit to admit it, but he likes me. Maybe just a little, but something’s there. I can feel it._

Billy stood outside smoking and daydreaming about distant possibilities; he pictured himself taking Steve out to see a movie, and going out to eat afterwards. He imagined what it might be like to look over and see him laughing in the passenger seat of his Camaro while they argued over what music to listen to; he thought about how nice it would be to lean over and kiss him, making him blush and bite his lip. 

_That’ll probably never happen… but a guy can dream, right?_

When Steve hadn’t returned by the time Billy finished his cigarette, he flicked the butt impatiently into the yard and returned to the house. He made his way back through the kitchen and into the living room, glancing around for Steve; he stood on his tiptoes but couldn’t spot him anywhere in the crowded room.

_Maybe he's still in the bathroom. Hope he's not too sick._

’Owner of a Lonely Heart’ was playing loudly on the boombox on the coffee table. He elbowed his way through the throng of dancing teenagers and headed down the dark hallway to the bathroom; the music wasn’t quite as loud in this part of the house.

There was a thin strip of light shining from beneath the bathroom door; Billy paused outside and heard the unmistakable sounds of someone retching. 

_Jeez, he really doesn’t sound good at all._

After waiting uncertainly for a few moments, he knocked softly on the door.

“You in there, Steve? Need any help?”

There was no answer besides some faint groaning. Billy knocked again.

“Hey… are you okay? I can find you some aspirin or Pepto if you want.”

Silence.

“Seriously, man, you can open the door. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about; everybody overdoes it sometimes and has to ralph.”

“Leave me alone,” a weary, muffled voice called from within.

He sighed heavily and slumped against the wall next to the bathroom door. When he saw a tall boy from his English class coming down the hall, Billy told him to beat it.

“Where am I supposed to go, then?”

“I don’t care; go piss in the shrubs outside or something.” Billy glared menacingly at him. “This bathroom is fucking occupied.”

The guy wrinkled his nose and looked suspiciously at the door. “Is someone blowing chunks in there? Gross.”

“What’d I just tell you?” Billy stepped forward and shoved him back roughly. “Give us some fucking privacy and get lost."

“Alright, alright… jeez, calm down,” the boy muttered as he wandered back down the hall.

Billy rapped his knuckles on the door impatiently.

“C’mon, buddy, let me in so I can at least… hold your hair back or something,” he said quietly, trying to keep the concern from his voice. “You’d better not be getting any barf in that pretty hair of yours.”

Finally, he heard the toilet flush and the door suddenly opened. A blonde girl he vaguely recognized from his history class stepped out, scowling at him with mascara-smeared, bloodshot eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ, can’t a girl puke in peace around here?”

Billy stared blankly at her.

_Oh, shit._

“Toilet’s blocked,” she said as she brushed past him on her way down the hall. “Oh, and you’re out of toilet paper.” 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, glancing down the hallway. “Where’d he go?”

Billy found Kimberly dancing near the green fireplace in the front room and asked her if she’d seen Steve.

She nodded, taking a sip of her cocktail. “I saw him heading out the front door a while ago… I hope that dummy didn’t drive himself home, ‘cause he seemed pretty buzzed.”

Billy went outside and walked briskly down the street, scanning the cars parked along both sides of the road. He didn’t spot Steve’s BMW anywhere, but it was hard to see on the dimly lit road. 

 _Did he go home?_  

Back inside the house, he made his way slowly through the crowd to the kitchen. There were red cups, pretzel crumbs, and empty beer cans everywhere, and a couple was passionately making out against the counter.

Billy rolled his eyes and poked his head out the back door to see if Steve was on the porch. The large backyard was completely dark, but he thought he could hear strange noises… low voices, maybe. It was difficult to tell for certain over the loud music coming from the other end of the house.

_Jesus, are people so horny they’re boning behind the bushes?_

“Hey!“ he shouted into the void. “Get a room, you animals!”

He went back inside and slammed the door, trying unsuccessfully to not feel sorry for himself. The girl sitting on the counter had wrapped her legs around her boyfriend’s waist; she winked at Billy over the boy’s shoulder as he kissed her neck and slipped his hands under her skirt.

_Everyone is getting lucky but me._

He walked back through the house, glancing around at all the faces he passed. When he spotted Tommy coming in through the front door, he scowled and clenched his fists.

“Hey!” Billy shouted as he rushed towards him, pushing past people haphazardly. “I thought I told you to clear out.”

Tommy’s eyes widened when he saw Billy approach and he raised his hands defensively. “Look, man, I’m leaving, I just came back because I forgot my—”

“Don’t care.” Billy grabbed Tommy by the scruff of his jacket and dragged him out onto the front porch. “Have a nice night, asshole.”

Tommy got up and and glared at Billy before skulking off to his car.

Billy walked down the street, noting each car he passed; he was relieved when he finally spotted Steve’s BMW a block from his house.

_I didn’t look far enough; he’s been here the whole time._

“Where the hell is he, then?” Billy muttered to himself, puzzled. 

He peered briefly in the BMW’s windows but the car was empty; growing increasingly worried, he walked back towards his house, glancing around in case Steve had passed out on someone’s lawn. He came to a sudden halt and squinted across the street, feeling sick with dread.

_Oh, shit._

It was a very familiar-looking GMC pickup truck with California plates and a wide brown stripe along the side.

_No, no, no. They’re supposed to be back on Monday. The truck’s at the airport… They wouldn’t be back so soon; it must be someone else’s._

Billy heard a twig snap behind him and he whirled around to see his father storming towards him, his blue eyes manic and menacing. 

“Surprise, dickhead. You’re in big trouble.”


	5. Busted

_Oh, shit._

“Hey, Dad,” Billy said warily, his mind spinning. “I wasn’t expecting you until—”

“Yeah, I can see that,” his father scowled, jabbing his finger towards the house. “Now, hurry up and get inside. Tell all your little friends to go. Right now.”

_The perfect end to a perfect fucking evening._

Everyone began to leave quickly when they noticed an adult coming in the front door. Someone switched off the music, and the sudden quiet was deafening. Billy couldn’t spot Steve in the departing crowd, but he saw Kimberly leaving with three other girls; she turned to wave at him on her way out the door.

When the last guest had left, Neil slammed the front door and turned around slowly, crossing his arms across his chest. He watched silently as Billy hastily grabbed a large trash bag from a drawer and began picking up beer cans and cups.

“So, um… where’s Susan?” Billy asked, trying to keep his voice level. “Why are you home so earl—”

“She’ll be back on Monday,” his father interrupted, frowning down at a beer can on the floor. “Now shut up and do something about this mess.” 

_That’s so weird. Why would he come home before her?_

“She’s… coming back, right?"

“Don’t be an idiot,” Neil snapped angrily. “Of course she’s coming back. Nothing’s wrong.”

_That means something’s wrong. They probably had a huge argument._

“So why did you come home early?” Billy tried asking again, even though he knew it was pointless. “It doesn’t make any sen—”

“That’s enough! Less talking, more cleaning.”

Billy peered up curiously at Neil’s face as he swept smashed Pringles off the edge of the coffee table into the trash bag; his nose was pink and his eyes were bloodshot. 

_He looks like shit. Did he stop at a bar on the way home?_

“Are you okay, Dad?” Billy asked in a low voice. There was a stubbornly self-destructive part of him that couldn’t resist pressing his father’s buttons. “You look like you’ve been drinking.”

_Maybe he’s a secret alcoholic._

Neil flushed, his moustache twitching angrily and a vein beginning to bulge above his eyebrow. “You’d better watch your mouth before I smack it across the room.”

“Sorry,” Billy muttered as he wiped some spilled beer off the coffee table with a napkin. 

“This party was a bad idea, shitbrain. A very, very bad idea.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t really enjoying it much, either, even before you came.” Billy found an unopened can of Budweiser and held it out to him. “Beer?”

“No thanks, smartass.” Neil smacked the can away and it clunked onto the floor. “Guess what? You’re grounded for a month.”

“A month?” Billy groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Come on, Dad, I—” 

“Be grateful it’s not longer. No phone calls, no TV, no car.”

_Oh, hell no._

“You can’t take my car, how am I gonna—”

“You can use it to drive yourself and Maxine to and from school, that’s it. The rest of the time, I’ll hold onto your keys.” Neil smiled thinly beneath his tidy brown moustache; his cold blue eyes were pale and humorless.

“But I need to—”

“Where _is_ your sister, by the way?” Neil ignored Billy and sat down on the couch to pull off his shoes. “Is she in bed?”

“She’s spending the night with a friend.”

“What?” Neil's voice was low and foreboding. “Maxine is where?”

“She’s fine, nothing could happen to her there; her friend is the police chief’s daughter. They live over by the lake.”

“Oh, so you know these people personally, do you? You think no policeman has ever molested anyone?” 

“Jesus, Dad, I don’t think Chief Hopper is—”

“I’m too tired to listen to your smart mouth anymore tonight,” Neil cut him off curtly, rising slowly from the couch and stifling a yawn. “I don't know this Chief Hopper, so go bring your sister home, and leave your keys on the table when you come back. Oh, and if this house isn’t sparkling clean by the time I get up in the morning, you'll wish you’d never been born.”

Billy breathed a sigh of relief when his father left the room. He dropped the trash bag and hastened to the kitchen to find their copy of the Hawkins directory; flipping to the beginning of the ‘H’ section, he saw that his own family wasn’t listed yet, but Harrington was. Billy pulled out a piece of paper and copied down the address and phone number.

"One more thing..."

Billy froze at the sound of his father's voice. He was leaning against the doorway in his slacks and undershirt, a towel around his neck.

"Go get my suitcase, before you leave. It's in the back of the truck." Neil frowned suspiciously at him. "What are you writing down?"

"Just the address to the Hopper place," Billy said, hastily folding up the paper and tucking it into his pocket. "In case I get lost."

He went outside, crossed the street to where his dad had parked and lifted the heavy brown suitcase from the truck bed. He went back inside and dropped it on the floor in the front room, then went back outside and jogged to the end of the block. When he saw that Steve’s BMW wasn’t parked where it was before, he sighed with relief.

_Guess he snuck by me and went home after all._

It only took Billy about fifteen minutes to reach the house near the lake. Chief Jim Hopper, a tall, sturdy man in his early forties, answered the door.

Billy cleared his throat, hoping he looked mature and trustworthy. “Hello sir, I’m Billy Hargrove. Maxine’s brother.”

Hopper crossed his arms across his chest; he was wearing pajamas and slippers. “It’s awfully late. Is something wrong?”

“The thing is, I’m here because my dad asked me to come pick up Max.” Billy looked down at his feet and chuckled wryly. “He’s put me in a pretty awkward position, actually, but um… yeah, I’m here to take her home.”

Hopper frowned. “Mr. Hargrove wasn’t aware she was here tonight?”

Max appeared suddenly in the doorway next to him, wearing navy polka-dot pajamas. “What’s wrong, Billy? Why are you here?”

“Party’s over," Billy said with a shrug. "Your mom's still in California, but my dad came home early, and he wants you to come home tonight.”

“He's home already?” Max’s brow crinkled in confusion. “So you got busted?”

Hopper cleared his throat. “Why don’t we all step back inside, it’s freezing out here.”

As they stepped into the house, Billy was startled when he noticed a girl with short, dark curls standing quietly next to the front door. 

“Are you okay, Max?” She asked softly, without taking her dark, serious eyes off Billy.

“Yeah, I’m fine, El.”

_What the heck is this weird kid’s name, Jane or El?_

The girl looked wistfully at Chief Hopper. “She can come over again sometime, right?”

“Well, sure. If her father says it’s okay.”

“ _Step_ -father,” Max corrected flatly. “I don't see why you couldn't just come get me tomorrow, but fine. I'll go grab my stuff from El’s room.”

Billy and Hopper watched the two girls disappear down the hall together, whispering to each other as they went.

“So, a party, huh?” Jim Hopper turned to Billy, looking stern. “No underage drinking at this party, I hope?”

“Of course not, sir.” Billy smiled innocently. “Just soda pop and Pringles.”

Chief Hopper smirked. “Soda pop?”

“Yes, sir.” Billy nodded earnestly, looking him right in the eye. “Pepsi, and Tab for the ladies.” 

Max returned to the room carrying her backpack; she was wearing her shoes and jacket over her pajamas.

“See you at school on Monday,” she said with a yawn, waving goodbye to her friend. “Good night, Mr. Hopper.”

Back in the car, Max shivered and cranked up the heater, then turned on the radio. ‘Faithfully’ by Journey was playing on the local rock station, and Billy resisted the urge to switch off the sentimental power ballad; he felt guilty for spoiling Max’s night, and decided she might as well listen to what she liked in the car, just this once.

"That was _so_ embarrassing," she groaned, shaking her head. "Why is your dad so uptight?"

"That's just how he is," Billy said with a shrug. "When I was a kid, he never let me go to slumber parties, either. He used to say pillow fights and late-night whispering turned good, red-blooded boys into fairies."

"Fairies?" Max repeated, looking confused.

Billy laughed. "Think Freddie Mercury, not Tinkerbell."

“Oh, okay. So... how was the party?” Max asked curiously. “Before you got busted, I mean.”

Billy thought for a moment; the events of the evening were jumbled chaotically in his memory, even though they had taken place just an hour or two earlier. 

“It was… pretty shitty, actually. Even before that asshole showed up.”

“Oh. Was the person you like there?”

Billy looked over sharply. “What?”

“The person you like,” Max repeated slowly. “There’s got to be _someone_ you like.”

“I don’t like anyone,” Billy muttered evasively without taking his eyes off the road. “Stop being so damn nosy.”

Max stared at him, her blue eyes bright and stubborn.

_This kid is too much._

“Okay, fine,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, the person I like was there.”

“Yet you said the party was shitty, so… what, you got rejected?”

“No,” Billy scoffed. “Not… exactly.”

Max glanced out the window and looked puzzled. “This isn’t the way to our house.”

“I just need to check on something really quick, before we go home…” Billy mumbled, narrowing his eyes as he carefully read the passing street signs.

“Oh, I know this area,” Max remarked, staring out the window. “We came here to trick-or-treat because rich people hand out the best candy. Who do you know in Loch Nora?”

Billy pretended he hadn’t heard her; he fumbled in his pocket for the scrap of paper where he’d written Steve’s address. Squinting in the darkness, he drove slowly past the imposing houses until he finally found the right one. He was relieved to see Steve’s BMW parked in the driveway.

_At least I know he’s home safe, sleeping it off._

“Whose house was that?” Max asked curiously as they drove away.

“Just a friend. Don’t worry about it.” He turned the volume up when he heard the opening notes of ‘Rebel Yell’ by Billy Idol playing on the radio. 

Max looked like she was suppressing a smile.

“What?” Billy glanced over at her as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat.

She shook her head and giggled. “Nothing.”

“C’mon, what’s so funny?”

Max shook her head again. “You’ll get mad.”

“No I won’t,” Billy insisted, his curiosity piqued. “Now tell me.”

“I figured it out. It’s Steve Harrington, isn’t it?” 

_Kids are so damn annoying, I swear…_

“At first, I figured you wanted the house to yourselves that day because you were going to smoke pot or something, but then I saw the way you kept looking at him at dinner, and—”

“Alright, alright,” Billy interrupted bluntly. “That’s enough snooping, Miss Marple.”

“I think it’s romantic. I won’t tell anybody, I swear.”

“You’d better not,” he muttered darkly, wishing he’d been more discreet around her. 

Max looked pensively out the window for a moment, then turned to Billy again. “So, does Steve like boys, too? I heard he used to date Mike’s big sister—”

“I said that’s enough, alright?” Billy said more sharply than he’d intended. His voice softened and he shook his head. “I can’t talk to my kid sister about this kind of thing.”

They were both quiet for a minute. This late at night, there were no other cars driving around and most of the houses they passed were completely dark.

“Do you think my mom and your dad are gonna get a divorce?” Max asked quietly.

Billy considered this for a moment. “I honestly don’t know. That’s between them.”

“They don’t seem very… happy, do they?”

“Not really, no,” Billy answered truthfully. “I can’t stand the way my dad talks to your mom, sometimes.”

“Why is he like that?” Max asked sadly, looking over at Billy. “She does everything right, but he never seems happy.”

Billy wasn’t sure how to respond. “Look, I’m… I’m sorry about him. I wish you could’ve gotten a better step-dad.”

“At least the step-brother I got isn’t so bad,” Max said quietly, staring out the window. 

Billy looked at her and chuckled. “Not so bad, huh?”

“He’s okay,” Max said archly, glancing over and meeting his eyes with a smirk. “Even if he does have a mean streak and a mullet.”

“Hey!” Billy exclaimed with mock indignation, glancing at himself in the rearview mirror. “Say what you will about my temper but there’s nothing wrong with my hair, alright?”

Max laughed. “I never thought I’d say this, but… I think I’d miss you, if our family split up.”

Billy heart constricted and he fell silent for a moment. “Really?”

“Mm-hm,” Max nodded, looking out the window again. “So I hope our parents can work it out somehow.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

When they finally pulled into the driveway of their house on Old Cherry Road, they were relieved to see that all the lights in the house were off.

“Guess he went to bed,” Max said brightly as she slammed the car door.

“Well, let’s not wake him up then,” Billy said quietly, shushing her. He had seen quite enough of his father for one day.

When Billy switched on the lamp inside, he was confronted by the messy house he still needed to clean. Dismayed, he sighed heavily and picked up the trash bag he’d left on the floor.

Max looked around and dropped her backpack on a chair. “Give me a bag or something, so I can help.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Billy smiled and ruffled her hair affectionately. “You should go to bed, get some sleep. I’ll be finished in no time.”

“Sorry your party sucked.”

“It is what it is,” he said with a shrug. “And I’m sorry my dad ruined your sleepover.”

“G’night, Billy.” 

Max shuffled off down the hall, leaving him behind to pick up empty beer cans and sweep pretzel crumbs off the couch.

_Well, hasn’t this been a peachy evening._

He looked up when Max suddenly reappeared in the doorway, standing with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her freckled little face.

“Oh my god, have you _seen_ the bathroom?”

“Fuck.” Billy closed his eyes and groaned, heading reluctantly down the hall. “I’ll, uh… get the plunger, I guess.”

He glanced at his watch; it was almost midnight.

_I’ll call him in the morning. He’s probably fine._


	6. Just Some Kid

**Wednesday, January 16th, 1985**

On Sunday, Billy called Steve but his mother answered and said he probably wouldn’t be going to class for a day or two. When Billy asked if he could talk to him for a minute, Mrs. Harrington said he was under the weather but she would let him know he called.

Steve didn’t call him back, and he wasn’t at school on Monday or Tuesday. 

When he wasn’t at school on Wednesday, either, Billy couldn’t stand it anymore and ditched first period to drive to Steve’s house. Nobody answered when he rang the doorbell, though.

_Goddamn it, Steve._

He went through the motions of the rest of the school day robotically, walking to his classes and handing in assignments. He drove Max straight home when school was over and spent the rest of the afternoon in his room, doing hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups to distract himself. He also worked on his Tess of the d’Urbervilles presentation for English class, trying not to think about that day when Steve was in his room, sitting so temptingly close.

Billy flopped down on the bed with his book, but he couldn’t concentrate on reading the dense 19th-century prose. He began to imagine what might happen if Steve came to his house again; would he mind Billy’s advances this time around? 

He leaned back against his pillows, wondering how Steve might react if he touched his thigh again the way he had last week. The words on the pages blurred together as his eyes drooped shut and the book slipped from his hand.

_“Um, Billy?” Steve glanced down at the fingers brushing against his leg. “What are you doing?”_

_“What do you think, genius?” Billy replied softly, moving his hand up his thigh. “I’m seducing you.”_

_He tilted Steve’s chin up and looked into his pretty brown eyes, filled with curiosity and desire._

_“Is it working?”_

_“Maybe a little, yeah,” Steve admitted softly, closing his eyes as he leaned closer._

_Billy pressed Steve down onto the bed and kissed him until they were both breathless and flushed. He boldly slid his hand into Steve’s pants and stared deep into his eyes, watching his shock soon melt into pleasure._

_Steve moaned and reached down between them to feel the rock-hard bulge in Billy’s jeans._

_“Go ahead,” Billy growled hungrily. “Don’t be shy.”_

_Steve unfastened Billy’s pants and touched him timidly. “Wow, it’s… big.”_

_The delicious sensation of Steve’s hand on his cock drove Billy crazy, and he kissed him with renewed urgency, slipping his tongue past his lips and tasting his sweet mouth._

_“Do you have any idea how badly I’ve wanted you?” Billy murmured between kisses. “Every inch of you?”_

_“Me, too,” Steve whispered into his ear, tickling him with his warm breath and soft lips. “I want…”_

_“What?” Billy encouraged, glancing up as he raised Steve’s shirt and began kissing his nipples._

_Steve flushed and looked down at Billy with lust in his dark eyes. “I want to feel you inside me.”_

_Knock, knock._

_Steve glanced over at the door, looking worried. “I thought you said nobody was home.”_

_“Just ignore it,” Billy begged, furious at whoever was interrupting. “Don’t stop.”_

_Steve pulled his hand out of Billy’s jeans and patted his stomach. “But dinner’s ready.”_

_“What?”_

Knock, knock.

“Billy, are you asleep, dear?” Susan’s gentle voice called through the door. “I said dinner’s ready.”

His delicious dream dissolved as he was dragged back to consciousness, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, be there in a minute,” he called to his stepmother, trying not to sound too irritated.

Billy felt a little guilty for thinking dirty thoughts while Steve was languishing at home, presumably dying of the world’s worst hangover or something. He had an overwhelming desire to see him; he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night without making sure he was okay.

At dinner, his father smiled and seemed to be in a better mood than usual; after considering his approach for a few minutes, Billy decided to try his luck with an ambitious request.

He cleared his throat. “Um, Dad?”

“Yeah?” Neil grunted in response, taking a bite of ham and potato casserole.

“Can I take the car out tonight, just for a little whi—” 

“Nope.”

_Shit._

“Please?”

Neil set his fork down on his plate with a sharp clink and stared at Billy. “ _No_.”

Susan and Max glanced at each other uneasily; the sudden tension in the room was palpable.

Billy tried to keep the anger from his voice and refused to give up. “Just for an hour, Dad. Come on, please?”

“Request denied.”

“I just need to check on my friend—”

Neil raised his eyebrows. “Your… friend, huh?”

“Honey,” Susan said softly, resting her hand on his arm. “Let’s talk about it after dinner, alright?”

Neil Hargrove ignored his wife and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Billy. “What the hell’s wrong with your… friend?”

Billy despised the way his father punctuated and emphasized the word ‘friend’ each time he said it; the sneering disdain in his voice was unmistakable.

“I don’t know what's wrong,” Billy said flatly, trying his best to sound calm and polite. “That’s why I’d like to swing by his place, see how he’s doing.”

Neil swallowed a bite of casserole and gave Billy a thin-lipped, insincere smile.

“Well, isn’t that nice. Is this the same boy who stayed for supper last week?”

“Yeah,” Billy admitted reluctantly.

“Stan Harrison, was it?”

“Steve Harrington, honey,” Susan corrected quietly, taking a sip from her water glass.

Neil set his elbows on the table and folded his hands primly beneath his chin. 

“Susan, Maxine,” he said without looking away from Billy. “Can you ladies give us a moment, please?”

“Well, sure,” Susan murmured, looking worried. “C’mon, sweetie.”

Max picked up her half-full glass of milk and followed her mother reluctantly from the room, looking back at Billy with concern in her eyes.

_Don’t worry about me, kiddo. I can handle myself._

A tense silence descended on the room when Susan and Max left, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Neil cleared his throat and rose slowly from the table. He reached into his pocket, pulled out Billy’s keys and dangled them from his index finger.

“So, let me get this straight,” Neil said as he paced slowly. “You want me to relax your punishment and let you have the car for an hour, is that it?”

Billy nodded, but his father’s tone made him uneasy.

“What’s so urgent? You make it sound like he’s on death’s doorstep.”

“I told you, I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He hasn’t been coming to school.”

“Why do you give a damn?” Neil shrugged, twirling Billy’s keys on his finger. “He’s just some kid you got stuck doing a class project with, right?”

Billy stared at the cold, half-eaten casserole on his plate and didn’t answer.

His dad clenched the keys in his fist and thumped the table suddenly with a loud bang. Billy flinched and gritted his teeth, glaring up at him.

“I want to hear it from you,” Neil said in a low, dangerous voice. “He’s just… some… kid. Right?”

_I hate you so much._

Billy nodded miserably.

“Say it!” Neil hissed in Billy’s face, so near that he could see a few flecks of casserole clinging to his moustache.

“He’s… just some kid,” Billy muttered, clenching his fists on his lap beneath the table. “May I please have my keys now?”

Neil smirked, tossing the keys high in the air and catching them; they jingled cheerfully. 

“No.”

Billy pushed his chair back abruptly and rose from the table, picking up his plate. “Well in that case, I’ll get back to studying.”

_It was a long shot, anyway. I didn’t really expect him to say yes._

“Sit down,” Neil snarled, pointing to Billy’s chair. “We’re not done yet. If he’s just some kid, why are you so antsy to see him?”

Billy shrugged and didn’t sit down. “What do you want me to say, Dad?”

“I said _sit,_ ” Neil spat angrily. “I mean it.”

_This fucking asshole._

“Why don’t you just cut to the chase and tell me what’s on your mind?” Billy set his plate back down on the table and stepped towards his father. “What do you want to know, huh?”

Neil reached out and grabbed Billy by the front of his shirt, twisting it tightly in his fist as he yanked his son closer.

“I want to know if he’s your… _boyfriend._ ” Neil hissed the last word with disgust, narrowing his cold blue eyes. 

Billy stared back at his father, fighting to keep his emotions from showing on his face.

“No,” he answered stiffly, swallowing a lump in his throat. “He isn’t.”

Neil relaxed his grip and stepped back, appearing mildly relieved. Billy suddenly wanted nothing more than to wipe that look of relief off his father’s stupid, smug face.

“Not yet, anyway,” he added quietly with a small smirk. 

Neil Hargrove flushed with anger. “You think that’s funny?”

“Yeah,” Billy said recklessly, chuckling. “Actually, I do.”

“You wanna joke around and play games with your life, huh?”

Billy shrugged indifferently. “Not really, Dad. You’re the only one who’s getting all worked up about—” 

“I can play games, too,” Neil said with a twisted smile, twirling the keys on his finger as he walked quickly towards the kitchen. “You want to go visit your sweetheart tonight?”

Billy followed just in time to see him step out onto the dark back porch, draw his arm back and fling the keys with all his might into the dark backyard, yelling “Fetch, boy!”

Billy stood in the doorway gaping.

“W-what the hell, Dad?”

Neil chuckled as he shoved past him into the kitchen.  

Billy shut himself in his room again and flopped down onto his bed, fuming silently as he stared up at the ceiling. He tried to study, but it was too difficult to concentrate, so he stuck his toes under his dresser and tried doing some crunches instead; his abdominal muscles were still sore from all the sit-ups he had done that afternoon, so he gave up after only fifty. His dad poked his head in the room periodically to make sure he hadn’t tried sneaking out. 

By eleven o’clock he and Susan had both gone to bed. Billy crept out of his room, carrying his boots and stepping as close to the walls as possible to avoid making the old floorboards creak. He tiptoed through the dark house and into the kitchen, where Neil had left his jacket draped over a chair. Billy rummaged briefly inside the pockets and smiled as he drew out a set of keys.

_That stupid asshole hid mine but forgot to hide his own._

He snuck outside and opened his father’s truck quietly, wincing at the noise when he shut the door. As he backed hastily down the driveway, he glanced up at the windows and exhaled with relief when they remained dark.

Billy switched on the headlights and took off down Old Cherry Road without looking back. He drove much more cautiously than usual, pausing at each stop sign and observing the speed limit.

_If I get a ticket or scratch his truck he really will kill me._

Billy was nervous and craving a cigarette, so while he was waiting at a red light he lit one of his Marlboros. He reached down to roll down his window, blowing a plume of smoke out into the icy night air as he accelerated.

Suddenly, a cat appeared in his headlights; Billy slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding it. The lit cigarette fell between his legs and onto the floor.

“Oh, fuck!” 

He pulled over to the side of the road and reached down, fumbling frantically for the cigarette before it could scorch a hole on the truck’s floor mat. It had rolled under the seat and when Billy found it, his fingers brushed against something unexpected: a pack of Camel cigarettes that had slid forward when he had braked so suddenly.

_Since when does Dad smoke? What a sneaky old liar._

“Finders, keepers,” he muttered to himself, tucking them into his jacket pocket. 

Billy hardly needed to read the dimly lit street signs as he drove through the Loch Nora suburb; this was the third time he’d driven to Steve’s house, so he had almost memorized the route.

He pulled over in front of the enormous, modern house and turned off his engine. Shutting his car door as gently as he could, he flicked his cigarette butt into the road and ran quietly up their driveway. A security light flicked on, bathing him in fluorescent light.

_Shit._

He rounded the corner and walked around to the rear of the house, gazing up at the second-floor windows. There was a light on in just one room, but he had no way of knowing whose it was.

_Well, I’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of getting this right. If it's his parents' room, I'm fucked._

Billy tossed a small pebble up against the illuminated window. He thought he saw the curtains move, but when nothing else happened he flung up another piece of gravel. 

_C’mon. I know you’re in there. You can’t hide in your tower forever, princess._

A shadow moved behind the curtain and the window slid open.

“Billy?” Steve called down warily, obscured by darkness. “What the hell do you want?”

“Are you okay?” Billy spoke quietly; he didn’t want to wake up Steve’s parents.

“Do you know what time it is?” Steve asked, sounding tired and annoyed. “Where did you get my address?”

_Who cares? Stop changing the subject._

“You haven’t been to school for days. What gives, Harrington? You got chicken pox or something?”

Steve was silent for a few moments. Someone’s dog barked in a neighboring yard.

“You really don’t know?” Steve asked finally, his voice barely audible. “That’s good. I didn’t really think it was you.”

“ _What_?” Billy moved closer to the house so he could hear better. “Can you be less cryptic, please?”

“Can you be less _loud_ , please?” Steve retorted irritably. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night and I’m _not_ talking about this right now, alright? My parents could hear us.”

“Maybe… let me come up, then?” Billy suggested hopefully.

“Are you deaf, or mentally ill?” Steve began to slide his window shut. “I _said_ not right now.”

“Hang on!” Billy hissed urgently. “Can you at least tell me you’re okay?”

Steve paused. “I’ll come to school tomorrow, alright? Just… go home, Billy.” 

And without another word, he closed the window and turned off his bedroom light. 

_What the hell was that about?_

Billy trudged back to his car, feeling deeply unsettled. He took one last look at the dark, imposing house before driving away, his mind cluttered with memories of the party. 

_I’m gonna find out what happened that night, and then I’m gonna kick someone’s ass. In fact, I know whose stupid, freckled ass is gonna be first._

 

 

 

 

 


	7. A Boy Called Trouble

**Thursday, January 17th, 1985**

_Billy slammed his gym locker closed and glanced around cautiously; all the other boys had finished putting on their P.E. uniforms and within a few moments the locker room was completely empty._

_Well, almost._

_Steve was sitting on the long bench that stretched all the way down an endless aisle of lockers; he was bent over and struggling to get a knot out of his shoelace._

_Billy approached without a sound and knelt down to help him, glancing up into his brown eyes as he eased the laces apart._

_“We’re gonna be late,” Steve fretted, looking down at his watch._

_“Yeah,” Billy nodded as he finished tying Steve’s shoe. “We definitely are.”_

_Kneeling in front of him like this, he had a great view of Steve’s thighs; they were slim, hairy and parted slightly on the bench. Billy couldn’t help but notice how the fabric of Steve’s green gym shorts hugged the small, tempting bulge between his legs._

_Billy lifted his hand from Steve’s sneaker and trailed it slowly up his leg, from his striped gym sock all the way to his inner thigh. He caressed the warm bump in Steve’s shorts, sliding his thumb over the smooth fabric and making him shiver with pleasure._

_“We can’t, Billy,” Steve mumbled, his objection contradicted by the way he licked his lips and unconsciously spread his legs further apart. “What if someone comes in?”_

_"I’ll be quick,” Billy growled as he impatiently tugged off Steve’s gym shorts and pushed him back against the narrow bench, bending down to gently moisten him with his mouth. “I’ve gotta have you.”_

_Steve’s sweet, erotic moans echoed through the cavernous, empty locker room; Billy licked him relentlessly, feeling like he might soon explode._

_“Oh... oh my god,” Steve panted, his eyes shining and filled with need. “That's e-enough... I'm ready for you.”_

_Billy slipped his tongue out of Steve’s ass, breathing heavily as he hoisted him up and slammed him eagerly against the lockers._

_Steve, still in his Nikes and socks, wrapped his legs tightly around Billy’s hips and pushed down the waistband of his shorts to reveal his large, throbbing cock._

_Billy proceeded to fuck Steve against the lockers, plunging in so deep that Steve yelped and pulled on Billy’s long hair._

_“You like that, Stevie?” Billy whispered huskily in his ear, nipping his earlobe._

_“I… ah! I love it,” Steve moaned breathlessly in response, squeezing his thighs tighter around Billy’s waist. “Fuck me… harder. Yeah, right there”_

_Billy enthusiastically obliged, thrusting as deep as he could while he inclined his face to playfully bite Steve’s nipples through the thin fabric of his gym shirt._

_“Hey,” Steve tapped his shoulder. “Who’s that?”_

_Billy looked down the aisle of lockers and saw a P.E. coach he didn’t recognize. The strange, tall man was standing twenty feet away with his hands on his hips, his face inscrutable beneath a Hawkins High baseball cap._

_“Fuck off!” Billy shouted at him, gripping Steve’s bottom possessively. He was becoming dimly aware of the fact that he was dreaming, which meant he would be waking up soon. “Get the hell out of my head!”_

_He turned away from the gym coach, hoping that if he ignored him he’d vanish; he nuzzled his face in the warm skin of Steve’s neck, groaning as he moved impatiently inside him._

_“Don’t go away, Stevie,” he mumbled desperately. “Not yet, okay?”_

_Tweet!_

_The sudden, shrill sound made him jump, and he turned to see that the coach was now standing just two feet away, a shiny metal whistle clenched between his lips. This close, Billy could see that the coach looked unnervingly like his father._

_Tweet!_

_“Stop doing that, jeez!” Billy yelled angrily. “Can’t you see we’re busy here?”_

_The coach tipped his head back and cackled as though Billy had said something hilarious. He had blue eyes and a tidy brown moustache just like Neil’s._

_“We? I don’t see anybody but you,” he smirked cruelly, then blew his whistle again._

_Tweeeeet!_

_Billy blinked and suddenly he was outside of his body, observing from a distance; humiliated, he watched himself grinding pathetically against the cold lockers, his arms wrapped around nobody. Steve had vanished without a trace._

_“Put your dick away, you disgraceful sack of shit,” the strange coach barked, blowing his whistle right in Billy’s face. “Nobody wants to see that. Now get out there! Go on, get! Those keys aren’t gonna look for themselves.”_

_Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!_

Billy’s eyes fluttered open and he groggily reached out to turn off his alarm clock. He had set it for five-thirty so he’d have plenty of time to search for his keys before it was time to drive to school.

He groaned and closed his eyes again, burying his face in the warmth of his pillow; he wanted to go back to his dream, before the strange coach/father/alarm clock amalgamation part. He smiled as he remembered the way Steve’s legs looked in his little green gym shorts, and how he had panted Billy’s name so sweetly and insistently.

His smile turned into a grimace when he peeked down under the covers and saw a dark, damp spot on the front of his grey sweatpants.

_A wet dream? What am I, thirteen?_

Billy took a quick shower, got dressed and headed outside into the bitterly cold January morning. It only took twenty minutes of shivering and searching every inch of the Hargrove’s backyard to spot the car keys; they were wet and freezing after spending the whole night outside. Sighing with relief, Billy tucked them in his jacket pocket and went back inside to finish getting ready for school.

When he got to Hawkins High an hour later, he scanned the crowded hallways for Steve and found him opening his locker to pull some books out. He approached cautiously from behind, noting the uncharacteristic droop of his shoulders and how his hair looked a little flatter than usual.

Steve slammed his locker and turned around, stopping abruptly when he saw Billy. His dark eyes widened and looked down quickly.

“Hey, Harrington,” Billy said casually, hands in his pockets. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, I am, thanks,” Steve said quietly, shifting his heavy textbooks in his arms.

_Liar. You look tired as hell._

"Want me to carry your books?" Billy offered with a gallant smile, extending his hand.

"No," Steve muttered, holding them tightly against his chest. "It's fine."

“Nice turtleneck, by the way,” Billy teased as he reached out to tug down the neck of his tight maroon sweater. “You got a hickey, or something?”

“Don’t touch me!” Steve jerked away, but he wasn’t quick enough to hide the purplish-yellow bruises on his neck.

Billy’s jaw tensed and he tried to keep his voice calm. “What the hell happened?”

He took a step closer to Steve, who stepped back quickly and bumped into the lockers.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled, self-consciously adjusting his turtleneck. “It doesn’t matter, okay?”

Billy was quiet, his mind working quickly. “Do you know who it was?”

“No.” Steve looked down uncomfortably at the cover of one of his textbooks. “Just forget about it.”

“Tell me!” Billy insisted, louder and angrier than he intended.

“Why should I?” Steve shot back, then glanced around, lowering his voice as he noticed people looking at them. “What are you gonna do, fix it?”

“Well, I could try if you’d just—”

“What’s one more name on the list of people who’ve taken a swing at me, anyway?” Steve muttered irritably. “You did too, not so long ago.”

Billy’s anger was overshadowed by a massive pang of guilt as he was suddenly forced to remember himself as he was just a few months ago: wild-eyed and enraged, pummeling Steve’s pretty face until it was bloody and bruised.

“Was it…” Billy’s mind swam with tangled, confusing memories from the party. “Could it have been… Tommy?”

“I don’t know… maybe, I guess.” The bell rang and Steve turned to leave. “I’ve gotta get to class. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Of course, Billy brushed aside Steve's advice and went looking for Tommy during lunch; he found him smoking in the school parking lot. When Tommy saw Billy approaching, he quickly stubbed out his cigarette and started walking in the other direction.  

_I’m gonna wipe every freckle off that stupid mug._

“Hey!” Billy called, ignoring the stares of the other students hanging out in the parking lot. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, huh?”

Tommy looked over his shoulder and quickened his pace, weaving between cars.

Billy persisted, catching up to him easily. “What the hell did you do, Tommy?”

“Nothing,” Tommy insisted peevishly, backing up against a car and looking around uneasily. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. You know something.”

“Wrong,” Tommy shook his head stubbornly, crossing his arms across his chest. “Don’t know shit, didn’t do shit.”

Billy narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s the truth so I don’t know what else I can tell you, man.”

Billy glanced around; the large station wagon they were behind kept them more or less concealed from the prying eyes of the other students in the parking lot. He grabbed Tommy’s jacket and shoved him roughly against the car, savoring the sound his head made as it knocked against the window.

“I didn’t _do_ anything, jeez!” Tommy winced, clutching the back of his head. “What’s your problem?”

“Listen to me, you freckled fuck,” Billy snarled, jabbing his finger in Tommy’s sullen face. “You’re gonna tell me what you did to Steve, or I’m gonna start getting _really_ angry.”  

“Steve… who?” Tommy said, edging away from Billy. “Harrington? I don’t give a shit about that guy, why would I—”

“And when I get angry, I break things.” Billy drew back his fist and punched him in the stomach as hard as he could.

Tommy groaned and slumped against the station wagon, doubled over in pain.

Billy stood over him, rubbing his fist. He hadn’t hit anyone in months, and he realized how much he had missed the rush of adrenaline and power.

_I haven’t hit anyone since... Steve._

“Fucking hell,” Tommy muttered, looking up darkly at him. 

“Now, I’ll let you try again. What… did… you… _do_?”

Tommy stood up slowly, then suddenly reared back and took a swing at him; Billy blocked his incoming fist easily and smacked him across the face, knocking him to the ground.

“Tell me!” Billy shouted down at him, drawing his foot back as he prepared to kick him in the groin.

“Stop! Alright? Just stop for a second,” Tommy panted, raising his hands in defeat and grimacing with pain. “I thought the cocky bastard could use a chill pill, that’s all. I just… wanted to teach him a lesson, you know? Embarrass him a little.”

Billy crouched down next to him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Tommy raised his hands again. “Don’t hit me, okay? I’ll tell you. At the party, I saw a cup with his name on it, and maybe I put a little something in his drink. He didn’t die, right?”

“You did what?” Billy asked in a dangerously low voice.

“It’s not a big deal, man," Tommy rambled nervously. "It was only a little Rohypnol, just half a pill… M-my mom takes it for her insomnia, it’s harmless—”

Billy stood up suddenly and kicked Tommy in the shin.

“Motherfucker!” Tommy winced, clutching his leg.

“Seriously?” Billy shouted down at him. “You gave him a fucking _roofie_?”

“Not so loud, for fuck's sake,” Tommy muttered, wincing as he sat up slowly. He glanced around uneasily at the handful of students who were approaching slowly to see what was going on. 

Billy took a step back and pressed his palms against his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to calm down.

_I could murder him._

“So you wanted to have your way with him, is that it?” Billy hissed angrily, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. “You drugged him, choked him, what else?”

“What?” Tommy’s face twisted in revulsion. “I didn’t lay a finger on him; I’m no fag.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Tommy glowered without looking remotely apologetic. “It was a stupid prank and I shouldn’t have done it. You’re not gonna… tell anyone, are you?”

Billy considered this for a moment, then shook his head. As badly as he wanted to expose Tommy’s slimy deeds, he didn’t want the whole school to know Steve’s business.

“No… and neither are you. If I hear any of this making the rounds I’ll kick you in the junk so hard you’ll never have kids.”

“Alright, alright,” Tommy said as he scrambled to his feet and turned to leave. “It’s really not a big deal, though. He’s fine.”

_He’s not fine, dickhead._

“Such a big fucking ruckus over that guy,” Tommy muttered under his breath as he skulked away. “And _I’m_ supposed to be the fudge packer? What a goddamn psycho…”

_This asshole must want to die._

Billy’s hand snapped out to grab the back of Tommy’s jacket; he yanked him to the ground and punched him mercilessly, ignoring his yelps of pain.

_Wanted to teach Steve a lesson, huh?_

He smacked him across the face.

_Thought drugging and choking him was pretty hilarious, did you?_

He punched him in the jaw.

Billy only stopped attacking Tommy when he was snatched from behind by a strong, beefy teacher, who had been passing by and was summoned to come break up the fight.

“That’s enough!” The teacher yelled, gripping Billy’s arm tightly as he dragged him to the principal’s office. “What the heck is wrong with you, huh? You could’ve killed him.”

Billy stopped struggling and jerked his arm free. “Okay, okay. Let go, I can walk.”

“Some kids are nothing but trouble,” his captor muttered, shaking his head with disapproval. "Trouble, trouble, and more trouble."

In the school office, Billy sat on an uncomfortable chair and pretended to listen to the principal droning on about the importance of respecting physical boundaries and managing one’s emotions.

“Do you often find it difficult to control your anger, William?” The principal asked blandly from the other side of his large desk.

“It’s Billy,” he replied sullenly, leaning back in his chair. “And no, not often. Only when I run into someone who pushes me over the goddamn edge.”

“Language, language,” the principal scolded, frowning. “You’ve already earned yourself three weeks of detention, but I can upgrade it to expulsion if you refuse to drop that attitude.”

“Expulsion?” Billy raised his eyebrows, growing mildly panicked. “Jesus. Look, I don’t know why you’re getting on my case when you should be talking to Mr. Date Rape out there.” 

He bit his lip, remembering that he wasn’t supposed to reveal Steve’s secret. Fortunately, the principal didn’t appear to notice or care.

“Turn out your pockets, young man.”

Billy obeyed reluctantly, tossing a lighter, pen, keys and wallet on the desk.

The principal picked up the silver lighter and shook his head. “These aren’t allowed on school premises, you know. Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you sure? No… switchblades, or anything of that nature? Let’s see.”

Billy sighed heavily and slipped off his black leather jacket, tossing it on the desk. The principal patted the pockets and smiled thinly as he pulled out a pack of Camel cigarettes.

_Shit, I forgot about those._

“Also contraband, I’m afraid.” 

“I’ll be eighteen soon!” Billy protested stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest. “I can smoke if I want.”

“Not at Hawkins High, you can't,” the principal countered disdainfully. “You come to school to _learn_ , not to smoke and try to look cool for the ladies. I’ll be confiscating these.”

“Fine,” Billy shrugged indifferently. “They’re not even mine; I don’t smoke Camels.”

The principal stared at the pack of cigarettes for a moment then held it under his nose, sniffing suspiciously.

“Kids these days think they’re so clever,” he muttered under his breath. “What’ve you got hidden in here, a joint?”

Billy smirked, trying to picture his uptight father relaxing with some weed. “Not likely.”

_There’s no way Dad is that cool._

The principal turned the pack of Camels upside-down and shook it over the desk. In addition to fourteen cigarettes, a tiny plastic bag fell out; Billy’s mouth dropped open when he saw that it contained a small amount of white powder.

_Where the hell did that come from?_

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The principal shook his head disapprovingly.

“Th-that’s not mine…”

_Seriously, Dad?_

“Goodness me, I’ve never heard that one before.”

“It’s really not,” Billy insisted, beginning to feel panicked. “I don’t do that kind of shit.”

“For the last time, watch your language,” the principal said sharply, rising from his seat. “Now, you know I have to report this to the authorities, don’t you?”

_Oh, shit._

“Maybe this is the sort of thing you California types do for fun, but not in Indiana. Hawkins is a nice town and we don’t tolerate this kind of filth around here.”

“It’s… it’s really not mine,” Billy repeated weakly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He was starting to feel nauseous.

“I’ve come across a lot of bad apples during my time here, but you…” He frowned as he pointed at Billy. “You, young man, are _trouble_.”

_Well, fuck._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos and comments. You guys are the best. :D


	8. I Will Lay Me Down

For the second time that afternoon, Billy found himself sitting on an uncomfortable chair, looking across a desk at a steely authority figure.

Chief Jim Hopper frowned and held out a tiny baggie between his thumb and forefinger; it contained about a quarter teaspoon of snow-white powder.

“You want to tell me what this is?”

“How should I know?” Billy tensed, gripping the armrests of his chair and glancing over at the door; he hated being cornered and interrogated. “I keep telling you guys, I’ve never seen it before.”

“Well, I’m guessing it’s not powdered sugar from home economics class.” Hopper tossed the baggie distastefully on the table. “If you don’t tell us, we’ll have to send it in to be tested. Damn waste of time and resources, if you ask me.” 

“Looks an awful lot like coke to me, sir,” Billy said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t know from personal experience, but I’ve seen Scarface—”

“Listen, kid,” the chief interjected sternly. “If it isn’t yours, whose is it?”

“I don’t know,” Billy answered, looking Hopper right in the eye. “I found a pack of smokes and swiped them, alright? I didn’t check inside first; I just… put them in my pocket and forgot all about them.”

Hopper stared at him, his intelligent blue eyes solemn. Billy wasn’t quite sure why he couldn’t bring himself to rat out his father; he hated his guts, after all.

“Believe me, I wish I’d never touched the damn things,” Billy went on nervously, looking down at his lap and fiddling with a ring on his finger. “Should’ve left them right where I found ‘em. The funny thing is, I don’t even smoke Camels.”

_For fuck’s sake, please don’t arrest me._

“How’s your sister, Maxine?”

Billy looked back up at the police chief, surprised. “She’s fine. I was sorry about having to break up her slumber party last weekend.”

“She’s a real sweet kid. Very polite, and Jane seems to like her a lot.” Hopper took out a cigarette and lit it. “Anyway, I’m going to have to call your parents about this, of course. The principal gave me their work numbers.”

_He might not believe me even if I did tell him it’s my dad’s. Neil hardly looks like the type of guy you’d expect to snort lines._

“If you’ve gotta call someone, can you call my dad, not my stepmom?”

Hopper’s brow furrowed. “Is this the same dad who didn’t want Maxine to have a sleepover with my kid?”

“That’s him,” Billy nodded. "He's a real charmer."

“Huh.” Hopper’s brow furrowed as he picked up the phone and dialed the number.

_Susan and Max would be humiliated if there was a big scandal… should I have said it was Tommy’s? That'd be a hard sell, and it's too late now, anyway._

When Neil Hargrove arrived at the police station twenty minutes later, he sat down uneasily in a chair next to Billy, glancing around.

“What’s this about?” Neil demanded crossly. “What has he done now?”

Hopper folded his hands on the desk. “Billy was caught fighting at school.”

Neil glared at his son. “Trying to be a tough guy again, huh?”

Billy looked down at his lap and didn’t respond.

“Goddamnit, boy, how many times do I have to tell you about respect and responsibility—”

“There’s a second, more serious matter, Mr. Hargrove,” Chief Hopper interrupted smoothly, reaching out to place the little bag of white powder on the table. “This was found in your son’s pocket… concealed inside a pack of cigarettes.”

Neil stared at the bag, blinking, his mouth slightly agape. 

“Mr. Hargrove?” Hopper asked, glancing curiously between father and son. “It can be a lot to process, I’m sure…”

Neil cleared his throat nervously, averting his eyes and running his hand over his moustache. “Does this mean Billy could… go to jail?”

_The hell I am. Why should I when it’s your stash, asshole?_

Jim Hopper leaned forward in his seat and picked up the little baggie, looking Billy directly in the eye. “Now, you say this isn’t yours, but… I’m sure you realize that’s what everybody says, right?”

Billy opened his mouth to protest, but the police chief held up his hand.

“You’re almost eighteen, right?” Hopper asked. “So you’d probably get tried as an adult if you end up facing a judge…”

Billy nodded glumly, barely able to listen to him over the panic and confusion humming dissonantly in his mind.

 _Oh my god, I can’t go to prison… I’m too good-looking. Some huge, tattooed Aryan Brotherhood fucker will try to make me his prison wife, or—_  

Hopper sighed and ran his fingers through his thinning brown hair. “Well, it doesn’t look like more than a gram or two, and I wouldn’t want to ruin a kid’s future over one idiotic mistake.”

Billy looked up at him sharply, unable to believe what he’d just heard.

“It _was_ a mistake, right?” Hopper said seriously, looking straight in his eyes.

Billy nodded fervently. “A big mistake, sir, yes. Next time I find a pack of smokes you can bet I'm leaving it right where it is.” 

The police chief stood up from his desk and stretched. “I tell you what, kid: I’m not gonna take this further.”

Neil cleared his throat. “That’s… very generous of you, sir.”

“Mainly, I’d just rather not have to deal with all the damn paperwork right now,” Hopper said as he stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray, glancing in Billy’s direction. “And it doesn’t hurt to have a sister who speaks so highly of you.”

Billy sighed with relief.

_Damn, I love that kid. I’m gonna buy her a new skateboard for this._

“But you’re on thin ice, young man. I hope you understand the gravity of the situation.” Hopper opened the drawer of a nearby filing cabinet and rummaged around briefly. “Now, from what your principal told me on the phone, you were originally called in for pummeling some kid half to death, not for drug posession.”

Billy nodded, wondering what was coming.

“Here, take this.” Chief Hopper passed Billy a pamphlet about anger management classes. “I want you to enroll yourself, okay? Complete fifty hours and make sure the instructor signs off on each one.”

Billy stared down blankly at the pamphlet in his hand. There was a photo of a man standing in a field of flowers, smiling idiotically. 

_Fifty hours? Jesus, what a drag. And I almost forgot about the three weeks of detention. Goddamn it._

“You listening, kid? I want you to bring me proof of completion in six months. If you don’t, there will be consequences. Don’t test me.”

“Thank you very much,” Neil said, rising slowly from his seat. “Son, say thank you.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Billy said earnestly, reaching out to shake Hopper’s hand. 

“Don’t mention it,” he replied curtly, returning the handshake. “Just behave yourself, alright? No more fights, and no more drugs. _Ever_. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Billy nodded solemnly. “I understand.”

Neil drove Billy back to Hawkins High in his pickup truck; the air between them was thick with tension and resentment.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you didn’t speak up,” Billy said after several minutes of stony silence. “Were you just gonna sit there and let him send me to jail?”

Neil didn’t answer.

Billy sighed, exasperated. “What the hell, Dad, it was your—”

“That’s enough,” he interrupted sharply. “You didn’t get arrested, did you? No.” 

“That’s not the point and you know it,” Billy muttered, staring out the window. His little misadventure had taken the entire afternoon, and the sun was beginning to set behind the trees.

Neil shook his head slowly with disbelief. “I don’t know what your sister said to that cop to get him to go so easy on a smartass turd like you.”

_Better a smartass turd than a middle-aged cokehead._

“Anyway, I don’t see any reason why you should bother her or your stepmother with any of this,” Neil continued. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Billy rolled his eyes. "Why the hell would I want to publicize something like that? And how long have you been powdering your nose, anyway? Is this a habit you've picked up recently, or...?”

“Don’t start with me,” Neil snapped angrily. “It’s not up for discussion. We wouldn’t be in this absurd situation if you hadn’t taken my truck for a joyride and stolen things that aren't yours.”

“I could’ve taken my own car if _someone_ hadn’t grounded me for no good reason and thrown my keys into the yard,” Billy retorted. “And how the hell are you trying to blame me when you’re the one with the secret coke stash, huh?” 

“Knock it off! You have no idea what kind of pressure I’m under at work. I said we’re not discussing it, and that’s final.” Neil glanced over at him and scowled. “I may not be perfect, but that doesn’t mean you get to stop treating me with respect, goddamnit.”

Billy fell silent for a few moments, his mind working quickly. 

“I want my Camaro back,” he said abruptly. “And a thousand bucks.”

His father’s jaw clenched with suppressed rage and he gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

“So this is what it’s come to, huh?” he muttered darkly. “Gonna blackmail your own father?”

Billy chuckled wryly. “I don’t think you’re in much of a position to bargain, _Father_. Unless you'd prefer I told Susan...”

“No, but what you’re asking is too much,” Neil grumbled irritably. “I don’t have that kind of money just lying around at the bank.”

“No?” Billy raised his eyebrows skeptically. “You spend it all on blow?”

Neil glared at him. “My personal finances are none of your concern. I’ll consider giving you three hundred if—”

“Five hundred,” Billy cut him off smoothly, looking out the window. “And I want you to stay out of my business and leave me alone.”

“Fine,” Neil muttered gruffly, staring straight ahead. “And we’ll say no more about this, right?” 

“Suits me.”

Billy’s blue Camaro was one of the only cars left in the student parking lot when Neil dropped him off and sped away. He found a folded sheet of notebook paper tucked under his windshield wiper; for a second he hoped it might be from Steve.

_“Went to Mike’s house, be back for dinner. —Max”_

When Billy came home, he found his stepmother chopping onions in the kitchen and listening to ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ on the radio. Her eyes were watering.

“Everything okay, Susan?”

She turned around and smiled weakly. “Yes, dear. It’s… it’s just these onions, making me cry.”

_Bullshit. She’s been acting weird since she got back from California. I wonder what that asshole said this time._

“Is my dad home?”

“No. He might be home late tonight,” she said absently, sniffling. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Your friend Steve called while you were out, dear.”

“Really?” Billy asked incredulously, trying not to look too excited. “When?”

“Oh, about fifteen minutes ago.”

Billy thanked her and hurriedly sat down on the living room couch next to the phone. He still had the small piece of paper with the Harrington’s address and phone number written on it from the previous night when he went to check on Steve.

Steve’s mother answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Harrington. This is Billy Hargrove. Could I speak to Steve, please?”

“Sure, Billy, let me get him for you.”

A few moments later, he heard Steve’s voice on the phone.

“Billy? Where are you calling me from?”

“Um, my house…?” 

“Oh. Well, that’s good. I thought you might be calling from jail.”

Billy laughed. “Why, would you come bail me out?”

“Fat chance. Look, I heard you got taken away in the back of a cop car. What did you do?”

“You heard about that, huh?” Billy sighed, slumping back against the couch cushions. 

“Everyone heard about it. What the hell happened?”

“Tommy happened.” Billy twined a wavy lock of hair around his finger absentmindedly; he hadn’t cut it in months and it was getting pretty long.

“Well, obviously. We all heard the ambulance come for him. I meant why did you beat him up like that?”

“We had a little… disagreement that got out of hand,” Billy said reluctantly. 

“C’mon, Billy,” Steve said sternly. “What happened?”

“After a little… persuasion, Tommy admitted that he snuck a roofie in your drink. That’s why you were so out of it.”

Steve was quiet for a moment as he absorbed this information. “Seriously? Jesus, that’s… kinda fucked up.”

“Tell me about it. So I had no choice but to smack the freckles off that creep.”

“It’s nothing worth going getting _arrested_ over, though, jeez…”

“I figured if he did that he probably… had something to do with those bruises on your neck. I may have gotten a little carried away, but that dickhead deserved it.” 

“You’re not gonna get sent to juvie though, right?”

“Why, would you miss me?” Billy asked playfully. “Maybe bring me a basket of muffins during visiting hours?”

“Hell no,” Steve muttered. “I’d just feel… kinda shitty about the whole situation. Like if I hadn’t left that damn drink out—” 

“Don’t go blaming yourself, for fuck’s sake,” Billy interrupted, frowning. “Some bastard from school— probably Tommy— did that to you, and he’s not the one being forced to go to detention and anger management classes.”

“It is what it is,” Steve sighed with resignation. “Let it go, alright? Tommy probably learned his lesson after a beat-down like that. I heard he might even have a broken rib or something.”

“Good,” Billy said darkly, looking down at the red marks on his knuckles. “He’d better not come near you again, or I’ll shove his ass in the quarry. Make it look like a tragic accident.”

“Jesus Christ, there’s no need to murder anyone. I can take care of myself.”

“Can you, though?”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered. “What are you gonna do, follow me around and be my bodyguard?”

_If you’d let me, yeah. I’ll clobber anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way._

“Hey, can I come over?” Billy asked impulsively. "We could talk, and try to figure out what happened that night..."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Steve answered without hesitation.

_Fuck, why did I say that? It’s too soon._

They fell silent for a few awkward moments. He heard the front door slam; when Max walked in the room Billy made a face at her, flapping his hand and mouthing that she needed to get the hell out. She rolled her eyes, stuck her middle finger up at him and left. 

“It’s easier, somehow, to talk about… embarrassing stuff like this when you’re not face-to-face,” Steve continued quietly.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Billy lowered his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. “You can talk to me.”

Steve didn’t say anything. 

Billy swallowed his pride and took a deep breath. “Please?”

Steve sighed. “This is… just between us, you understand?”

“Yeah, of course,” Billy said seriously. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Look…” Steve took a deep breath. “I honestly don’t know who it was, alright? I don’t remember much at all from the end of the party. I remember talking to you and finishing my drink, then feeling sick and really hot, and running outside because I thought I might puke. I remember how nice the cold air felt, and then… I think I fell down on the lawn. Someone came to help me up; I thought it might’ve been you, but everything was blurry and I couldn’t think straight. The guy said he was going to help me back to the house. I only remember… bits and pieces after that.”

“Like what?” Billy asked.

“I remember getting shoved onto the ground from behind. I couldn’t see, ‘cause my jacket had been pulled up over my head, and I was lying on my stomach. I could feel someone… sitting on top of me. I couldn’t move, and I could barely breathe; there was a hand on the back of my neck, pushing my face down into the dirt.”

Billy quivered with rage, gripping the telephone receiver tightly.

“When I tried to get up, he squeezed my neck _really_ hard through my jacket, and I could feel his…” Steve trailed off.

“His what?” Billy said tensely.

“His, uh… _boner_ pressing against my back.” Steve’s voice was strained. “God, it felt so disgusting. I didn’t know what the hell was going to happen.”

Billy swallowed, feeling nauseous and more than a little murderous.

_I’m gonna kill that freckled piece of shit._

“I’ve never been more scared in my life,” Steve continued. “When I tried to yell, he squeezed my throat harder. I really thought I was going to die, but then I heard a voice shouting something from the house.” 

Billy felt a chill run down his spine when he remembered himself yelling ‘Get a room, you animals!’ into the darkness that night.   

“I can’t get over it,” Billy said glumly. “I was… inside looking for you the whole time. Standing outside the bathroom for ten minutes because I thought you were in there throwing up, when the whole time you were really—”

“Don’t sweat it, okay? He left after that, and I’m fine. I should’ve watched my drink, but that’s… something I used to think only girls had to worry about.”

“How did you sneak away?” Billy asked. “Your car was there, and then the next time I looked, it wasn’t.”

“Yeah, I… saw you with your dad, walking back to the house. I didn’t want to talk to you, or anyone, right then. My face was all dirty and I felt like hell so I laid low until you went back in the house. Drove home and faked sick for a few days because I hated the idea of seeing everyone at school, and having to wear a stupid turtleneck every day until the bruises fade.”

“I thought the turtleneck was cute.”

“Shut up.”

“Were you really okay to drive?”

“Well, I um… puked a lot right after he left and started feeling a lot less woozy. And this is kind of embarrassing but… I was really thirsty and didn’t want to go back inside so I drank some water from your garden hose.”

Under any other circumstance, Billy would’ve choked and gotten a hard-on after hearing Steve talk about being thirsty for a drink from his hose, but at this moment his anger outweighed his lewd thoughts.

“I probably wasn’t okay to drive at all, in hindsight, but I didn’t give a shit,” Steve went on. “That night, I felt so low I wouldn’t have cared if I wrapped my car around a tree.”

“Don’t say that,” Billy said sharply, pinching his eyes closed as he banished the sudden, unwelcome image of Steve slumped lifelessly inside his BMW, both the car and its driver mangled beyond repair. 

Steve sighed heavily. “Well, anyway, that’s what happened. So now you know. And you’d better not go after that asshole Tommy when he comes back to school. You’ll get expelled, or arrested, and we don’t even know for sure if it was him.”

“Well, he’s suspect number one in my book.”

“I’m just glad it wasn’t you.”

“How the hell could you think it might’ve been me?” Billy asked in a low voice. “You know how I feel about you.”

_Oh, shit. What the hell am I saying?_

“That’s just it, though,” Steve responded, his voice rising slightly. “You don’t tell me how you feel, you just throw stones at my window in the middle of the night and stare at me all the time and try to touch my leg and… when I was on the ground, blind and scared shitless, I thought maybe if you were drunk and horny enough—”

“No,” Billy shook his head vigorously, even though Steve couldn’t see him. “I’d never do something like that.”

“It wasn’t like it was a total… _impossibility_ , though, right? You haven’t always been this nice to me… you’ve beaten me unconscious, remember?”

“Yeah,” Billy said quietly, suddenly filled with self-loathing. “I remember.”

“Look,” Steve sighed. “I’m sorry I ever thought it might’ve been you, alright? I didn’t know what to think.”

“No, I get it.” Billy picked absently at a frayed spot on the couch. “I wouldn’t trust me, either.”

An awkward silence stretched between them as he anxiously twisted the phone cord in his hand. He scrutinized the small cuts and bruises on his knuckles from when he was punching Tommy that afternoon, trying to think of something to say.

Steve cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t been doing my fair share of the English project. It’s due next week, right?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Billy said, grateful for the change of subject. “I finished it already.”

“Really?” Steve said incredulously. “Both parts?”

“Well, I had some spare time, and I didn’t know when the hell you were gonna come back. I put together something halfway decent for you to read during the presentation.”

“Well… thanks,” Steve said quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did.” Billy stretched out his legs and looked up at the ceiling. “And besides, you shouldn’t be reading a depressing, rapey book like that right now. Not after what happened.”

“I wasn’t… _raped_ or anything, though. Not like Tess… she felt a lot more than Alec d’Urberville’s boner on her back.”

Billy clenched his jaw; remembering what happened to Steve stoked his anger. He pictured him face-down on the cold, hard ground: his jacket tugged up over his head, blinding him and restricting his arms. 

_If only I had stepped outside to check… I didn’t know. How the hell could I have known something crazy like that would happen?_

Billy imagined Tommy straddling him, grinding into Steve’s back as he wrapped his hands around his throat.

_If I’d found them like that I would’ve grabbed his filthy hard-on and snapped it like a glow stick. I would’ve laughed while he screamed. I would’ve cradled my boy, stroked his hair, told him everything’s okay._

He swallowed, shook the dark, unbidden thoughts from his mind and forced himself to speak in a light, easygoing tone.

“Sounds like you’ve been reading the book.”

“Not exactly… I read the CliffsNotes,” Steve admitted. “So I could’ve done my half… I feel sort of shitty for taking credit; I didn’t do anything.”

“It’s fine,” Billy insisted. “I wanted to.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

The line went quiet again, and Billy tried to think of a way to say goodbye without sounding corny or wistful.

“Um… see you in class tomorrow?”

“Yeah… Bye, Billy.”

“Night, Steve.”

Billy hung up the phone, feeling oddly elated and upbeat. Whistling as he walked into the front room, he saw Max sitting on the couch, doing her homework and watching Fat Albert. She glanced up curiously at him.

“That was Steve, right?” Max asked quietly with a knowing smile.

“That’s a doodle of Lucas, right?” Billy smirked as he tilted his head to get a better look at the notebook on her lap. “Did you write ‘Mrs. Maxine Sinclair’ in the margins, too?”

“No,” Max said crossly, turning pink as she hastily closed her notebook. “And where the hell were you after school, by the way? I had to get a ride from Mike’s sister.”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,” Billy called enigmatically over his shoulder as he headed down the hall to his room.

He flopped on his bed and stared up at the ceiling; he could hardly believe how much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Overall, it had been a good day: he beat the shit out of Tommy, he wasn’t grounded anymore, and he’d just had a long phone conversation with Steve Harrington. 

_He didn’t say he likes me, but… he didn’t say he doesn’t, either. I can work with that._

 

 


	9. I Already Know

**Saturday, January 19th, 1985**

Billy Hargrove ignored his alarm clock and slept in until eleven on Saturday morning. He took a hot shower, during which he spent so long daydreaming about Steve Harrington that his fingertips turned pruney and the hot water ran out. 

“Hey!” Max called from outside the bathroom door, knocking impatiently. “How much longer are you gonna be in there? I’ve gotta pee!”

Billy stepped out of the shower and wrapped a frayed blue towel tightly around his waist, dripping all over the linoleum as he opened the door.

“All yours,” he said with an exaggerated bow as he passed his step-sister in the hallway, which felt freezing cold after the warmth of the bathroom.

Back in the privacy of his room, he popped his Scorpions tape into the cassette player and whisked off his towel, rubbing it briskly over his body and hair. He stood naked before his opened closet, considering what he would wear that day. Drops of water fell from the tips of his hair and rolled down between his shoulder blades to his lower back; he shivered and his skin erupted in goosebumps.

_Why would anyone want to live here? It’s fucking freezing._

Billy’s bedroom was chilly despite the heater being on so he dressed hastily in jeans, a long-sleeved thermal undershirt and a grey hooded sweatshirt. He ran his hands through his damp, wavy hair and spritzed on some Aqua Net, coaxing the lock that fell across his forehead into a perky ringlet. 

“Not too shabby,” he said to his reflection, smiling roguishly at himself as he put on a single small silver earring.

After he had put on his usual black boots, Billy switched off his boombox and headed for the kitchen; he could smell toast and his stomach was growling.

Max was seated at the table, reading the funnies and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into two triangles.

“That looks good,” Billy commented as he reached over her shoulder to steal the remaining half. "What's Garfield up to today?"

“I was going to eat that, you know,” Max protested as Billy wolfed down the sandwich in two bites.

“Are you ready to go, Maxine?” Susan walked briskly into the kitchen, pausing to smooth her daughter's long, red hair.

“Where are you guys going?” Billy asked with his mouth full, opening the fridge and pulling out a carton of milk.

“Shopping,” Max answered succinctly as she folded up the newspaper and rose from the table. 

“She needs new shoes,” Susan elaborated. “So we’re going to Sears, and then we might stop at the grocery store— Billy, use a glass for heaven’s sake.”

He had taken a long swig of milk straight from the carton; grinning sheepishly, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Max made a face. “Gross! Nobody wants to drink your grody backwash, you caveman.”

“Sorry about that,” he said with a penitent smile as he put the milk back in the fridge. “Old habit. You two ladies have fun shopping, okay?” 

“We’ll be back in a few hours. Honey, fetch your coat.”

Billy thought Susan looked more tired and stressed than usual. Her smile seemed forced, and something about her eyes made him suspect she’d been crying recently.

_She’s been crying a lot lately, and I don't have to be a shrink to guess why._

“Is Dad home?” Billy asked cautiously, gauging her reaction.

“He’s, um… still in bed, I think.” Susan answered without meeting Billy’s eyes. She picked up her purse from the counter and rummaged inside for her car keys. “He got back pretty late last night.”

_That pathetic asshole was probably out snorting lines or something._

When Billy heard the front door close, he went down the hall and opened Max’s bedroom door, glancing around until he spotted her skateboard in the corner. He picked it up gingerly and turned it over in his hands, frowning at the thick layer of duct tape wrapped around one end.

_Shit._

He had felt guilty for breaking her skateboard as soon as he’d heard the sad cracking sound; Max had looked so miserable. Somehow, he’d never managed to say he was sorry. 

_I’m gonna get her a new one. That’s better than a damn apology._

He put the skateboard back and walked through the house to Neil and Susan’s bedroom; the door was closed and he knocked loudly.

“Hey, Dad, can I talk to you for a second?”

There was no answer, and Billy knocked again.

“You asleep in there? It’s almost noon, for Christ’s sake—”

The door suddenly snapped open and Neil Hargrove poked his head out, narrowing his humorless blue eyes at Billy.

“What the hell do you want?”

Billy crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, determined not to show weakness or fear. “Just that five hundred bucks we talked about."

Neil scowled and clenched his jaw; his nostrils looked a little pink, and his pupils were dilated.

“We can discuss this later,” he muttered irritably as he tried to shut the door. “I don’t have it right now.”

Billy stuck his boot out to keep the door open, looking suspiciously at his father. “You aren’t… _high_ , are you?”

Neil didn’t respond as he looked down and attempted to kick Billy’s foot out of the way.

“Fucking hell, Dad, are you doing that shit in the _house_ now?” 

_I don’t even know who this guy is anymore, he's skidded so far off the rails._

“I don’t believe that’s any of your concern,” Neil snapped, rubbing his nose with one hand and yanking on the doorknob with the other. “Will you move your stupid foot already?”

“Not until I get my money,” Billy said stubbornly. “I have to buy Max a new skateboard.”

“What the hell happened to the one she’s already got?”

_I happened to it._

“It’s cracked; she’s been trying to fix it with duct tape, but she needs a new one.”

Neil frowned and stopped trying to close the door. “How much do those things cost?”

“I don’t know, maybe seventy-five bucks for a good one,” Billy estimated, thinking fast. It had been over two years since he’d stopped skateboarding. “But we agreed on five hundred. Don’t try to weasel out of it.”

“I don’t have it right now, alright?” Neil snapped. “Maxine will just need to learn to take better care of her things. She should find a more ladylike hobby, anyway; skateboards are for boys.”

“There’s nothing wrong with girls skating, Dad.” Billy’s patience was wearing thin. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on with you lately, but I think you might need to get some help—”

“For Christ’s sake!” Neil suddenly shoved Billy, taking him by surprise and sending him staggering back into the hallway. “Can you hear yourself? You nag more than a damn woman.”

Billy lunged forward just as his father slammed the door in his face. A few moments later, it opened again and Neil shoved a tightly folded wad of twenties at him.

“Here, happy? That’s all I have, take it or leave it.”

Billy took the cash and immediately began to count it as the door slammed shut again.

“Hey,” he objected angrily, knocking on the door. “This is only, like, two hundred. Where’s the rest?”

“What part of ‘I don’t have it right now’ are you finding difficult to comprehend?” Neil called from behind the door. “You’re lucky I gave you a dime after the way you’ve been acting lately. Now leave me the hell alone.”

_Oh, no you don’t._

“We had a deal, remember?”

There was no response, and Billy kicked the door in frustration. 

“Fucking liar,” he muttered under his breath as he gave up and stomped back through the house to his room.

He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, looking in his mirror and fluffing out his long, wavy hair; he turned his Scorpions tape back on and cranked up the volume, bobbing his head to the loud music. He opened his wallet and stuffed his recently acquired cash inside.

When he heard heavy footsteps in the hall, Billy looked up sharply. Neil appeared in the doorway a moment later, red-faced and still wearing his pajamas.

“Will you turn down that god-awful racket? It’s giving me a migraine.” He rubbed his nose, sniffling noisily. “And what have I told you about smoking in the house?”

“Really, Dad? You’re worried about a little cigarette smoke?” Billy scoffed incredulously and took a defiant drag on his Marlboro, blowing it towards Neil. “I’m not the one snorting coke.”

_Get the hell out of my room, you sad old hypocrite._

“What I do in the house I pay the bills for is none of your concern—”

“Where's the rest of the money?” Billy interrupted impatiently as he switched off the music and pulled out the cassette tape. “We had a deal.”

“Oh, we had a deal?” Neil said darkly, folding his arms across his chest and looking at Billy with cold, bloodshot eyes. “You think I make deals with punk-ass kids?”

Billy hastily shoved his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, wondering if his dad was pissed off enough to try taking back the cash. A twisted knot of dread was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach as he slowly came to realize that he was all alone in the house with an angry, unstable man who hated his guts and was very likely high as a kite. 

“I’m not a punk-ass kid,” he muttered stubbornly, determined not to show any fear. “And we _did_ have a deal. Unless you’ve changed your mind and you want me to tell Susan about the co—”

“You’re not gonna tell anyone,” Neil cut him off, his voice dangerously low. “ _Especially_ not Susan.”

“No?” Billy watched his father uneasily, feeling every muscle in his body tense. “Does that mean you’re gonna get me the rest of my money?”

Neil sniffled loudly and ran his hand over his neatly trimmed moustache, taking a deep breath.

“For god’s sake… it helps take the edge off, alright?” His eyes had a crazed glint in them that unnerved Billy. “You wouldn’t know because you’re just a spoiled kid, but someday you’ll be expected to bring home the bacon and pay all the bills. Someday you’ll have to work at some miserable job you can’t stand, then return home to an ungrateful brat who blackmails you.”

Billy pretended he wasn’t listening as he stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray and pulled his favorite black leather jacket out of the closet.

“Of course…” Neil leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms again. “If you really are a fruit I suppose you won’t have to worry about having kids.” 

_Fuck you, Dad._

Infuriated, Billy attempted to elbow his way past Neil.

“Can you move? I’m getting the hell out of here.”

His father stood stubbornly in the doorway, blocking his escape; when Billy tried shoving more insistently, Neil pushed him back roughly, almost knocking him off-balance.  

“Now, it seems to me that you’ve been getting some funny ideas about who calls the shots under this roof.”

Billy’s blood felt like it was boiling hot; he could feel his self-control slipping away and clenched his fists tightly, willing himself not to unravel.

 _Keep it together, man._  

“You used to be okay, Dad.” His voice quivered with emotion and rage. “When did you become like this? Was it after Mom died?”

“You shut your mouth,” Neil hissed, stepping towards him and jabbing his finger against his chest. “Don’t talk about her.”

Billy boldly stepped closer to him. “I mean… cocaine? At your age? You’re too old for that shit; it’s pretty sad.”

Neil suddenly drew his fist back and punched Billy in the face.

“I said shut up,” he growled, flexing his hand and rubbing his knuckles. “I’ve heard more than enough of your smartass commentary for one day.”

Billy licked the rusty taste of blood from his lips. “I’m glad Mom isn’t here to see you spiraling down the drain like this.” 

“I’m warning you…”

“But what about Susan and Max, Dad?”

“I told you to shut your trap already, boy…”

“I know you don't give a shit about me, but what about them? You should sign yourself up for rehab before you—”

Neil shoved him forcefully across the room; Billy lost his footing and fell, smacking his head on the edge of the low table where he kept his record player and speakers.

“You know what happens when you disobey me, don’t you?” Neil snarled down at him, a thin vein standing out on his forehead.

_Yeah, yeah. You break things. I already know._

Billy groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as daggers of white-hot pain shot through his head. He reached out the grip the chair and hoist himself back up, but a wave of dizziness overcame him, and he slumped back to the floor. The discomfort was almost unbearable; his vision was blurred and he wondered if this was what a concussion felt like.

_Wait… where’d he go?_

Grimacing as he clutched the side of his head, Billy took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. Neil had disappeared from the doorway.

“Good riddance,” he muttered to himself, wincing as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Fucking piece of shit…”

He heard heavy footsteps returning down the hall and looked up anxiously as his father reappeared in the doorway.

_Oh, no._

Billy’s blood turned cold when he saw the kitchen knife clutched in his father’s hand. He scrambled backwards and collided with the side of his bed, suddenly more terrified than he’d ever been in his life. Neil reached down and grabbed his leg, dragging him closer. 

“Let go!” Billy shouted, kicking and writhing as his father rolled him over roughly, pinning him to the floor with his knee.

_Am I about to die?_

“I am so _sick_ and _tired_ of your disrespect,” Neil growled, gripping a fistful of Billy’s hair and yanking it back painfully.

"Ow, fuck! Let go!"

_What the hell is he doing?_

“I’m also sick of looking at this sissy rat-tail growing out of your head.”

_Oh, fuck. Not the hair. Please, not the hair._

Pinned down and helpless, Billy couldn’t do anything but scream curses at his father and flail furiously; he blinked back tears as the sharp knife hacked savagely through his hair, just above his neck. It felt like it was happening in slow-motion, but in reality it probably took less than five seconds.

_I’m gonna kill him._

“What do you think about that, you vain little peacock?” Neil dropped a five-inch hank of wavy golden hair on the floor next to Billy’s face.

“I’m… gonna… kill… you,” he snarled through gritted teeth, squirming beneath his father’s weight.  

“Is that so? Still haven’t learned any respect, I see.” Neil chuckled dryly and shoved Billy’s face against the carpet. “Should I fetch my electric razor and take off the rest?”

Billy’s head throbbed anew with pain as he felt his necklace tightening around his throat; Neil had it gripped in his fist, yanking it like a leash. The room seemed to spin around him, and Steve’s voice echoed from somewhere in the back of his mind. 

_“I could feel someone sitting on top of me… I couldn’t move, and I could barely breathe.”_

Billy suddenly remembered the night of the party, when he was startled to see first his father’s truck, and then the man himself storming across the lawn towards him.

_He wasn’t coming from his truck._

“You hadn’t just gotten home…” Billy said slowly, his face pressed against the floor. “You were coming from around the house.”

Neil gave the thin chain a final twist, snapping its small clasp. He picked it up from where it fell and tossed it aside.

“What are you yammering about now?”

_It was him. This coke-head closet case touched my Steve. Now I'm really gonna kill him._

Fueled by pain and rage, Billy summoned every ounce of strength he possessed, gritted his teeth and pushed himself up off the floor, lifting his two-hundred pound father up with him. 

Unbalanced and caught off guard, Neil tumbled off his son’s back, cursing as he crashed to the floor with a loud thud.

Billy rose unsteadily to his feet and gave Neil a swift kick in the stomach before he had a chance to get up again.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Billy snarled. “You’re the one who did that to Steve.”

Neil groaned as he tried to sit up, leaning against the bedpost and clutching his stomach. “Did what... to who?”

“Don’t bullshit me!” Billy shouted down at him, kicking him in the groin. “You know who!”

Neil made a strange yelping sound, wincing as he clamped his legs together. “I... I barely touched him.”

“You scared the shit out of him and left him with bruises!”

Billy grew even angrier when he thought of the painful-looking discoloration on Steve’s pretty neck.

“He’ll survive," Neil muttered darkly. "Maybe that dumbass fairy will think twice before getting shitfaced at a party and wandering around in the dark.”

“What the hell did you just call him?”

_I didn't know it was possible to hate someone this much._

Neil chuckled hoarsely, resting his head against the bedpost. “He was so wasted, I didn’t think he’d mind a little harmless fun.”

“It wasn't fun for Steve!" Billy yelled, trying to ignore the pain throbbing through his head. "And he wasn't wasted, he was drugged. Just admit it, you wanted him.”

Neil looked revolted; pink veins stood out on his forehead. “Don’t be obscene. I’m not a cocksucker like you.”

“Bullshit! He said you had a boner.”

“Shut up!” Neil shouted, his face turning red. “Th-that’s disgusting!”

“You know what I think, Dad?” Billy kicked him in the stomach again and knelt down beside him, ignoring his moans of pain and grabbing the front of his shirt. “I think you must’ve noticed how much I liked Steve. You also must've noticed that he's a stone-cold fox, since you're clearly a closet case. Combine that with how much you hate me, and… well, it makes sense.”

“Shut… the fuck… up!” Neil suddenly sprang up at him like a panther, knocking Billy to the floor. He shoved him down roughly, gripping his head tightly in his hands and knocking it against the bedpost. 

Furious with himself for losing the upper hand, Billy suddenly felt a searing pain in his left earlobe and realized Neil was about to rip his earring out. 

“Dad, stop,” he pleaded, despising how pitiful he sounded. He desperately fumbled on the floor behind him, reaching under the bed until his hand closed around one of his fifteen-pound steel dumbbells.

Without pausing to think, he swung it it an upwards arc and it connected with his father’s left elbow.

Neil released him, shouting with pain and clutching his arm.

Billy scrambled to his feet and socked his father in the jaw, then stood looming over him, clutching the dumbbell as though preparing to hit him in the face with it.

“That was a pussy move,” Neil spat, his voice dripping with venom. "What're you gonna do now, hot-shot, bash my brains in? You don't have the guts."

"No? You wanna put that theory to the test?"

“You’d go to jail. Cocky little fruitcake like you won’t last long around all those lonely felons… better not drop the soap.”

“Sweet of you to be so concerned,” Billy said sarcastically as he moved his arm and raised the dumbbell over his father’s leg. “How about I break this kneecap, instead?”

“Screw you,” Neil muttered with pure hatred in his eyes. 

_Screw you._

The words echoed in Billy’s mind, but in his own voice, not his father’s. He was momentarily transported back to that strange night when Max jammed the syringe of sedatives in his neck and he was on the floor, at the mercy of someone who hated him.

_I don’t want to be like my dad._

He remembered how Max had threatened to pulverize his groin with a nail-studded baseball bat; she had looked so fierce and fearless. The steel dumbbell shook slightly in Billy's sweaty palm; he gripped it tightly to steady his hand. 

_He can’t drive away if he’s got broken bones._

Billy raised the dumbbell high above his head like a club, bringing it down with a loud thud on the floor, two inches from Neil’s knee.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Billy said, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. “You’ll go get dressed, pack up all your clothes and shit, and write Susan a quick break-up note. Then you’ll get in your ugly truck and drive the fuck away.”

“Who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do in my hou—”

“I’m the man of the house now, asshole,” Billy snarled down at him, jabbing his finger in his face. “You’re no good for this family. Not for Susan, or me… you’re sure as shit no good for Max. So you need to go. Find a new job in a new town, and forget about us… that shouldn’t be too hard, right? You don’t even _like_  us. Susan cries almost every day, did you know that?”

“This is unbelievable, you piece of sh-"

Billy grabbed Neil by the front of his pajama shirt and punched him in the face with all his might; as he unclenched his fingers, he glanced at his watch. “You’ve got less than two hours to clear out. I want you gone before Susan and Max get home, understand?” 

Neil clenched his swollen, pink jaw and remained silent.

"Are you going deaf, old man?" Billy took a deep breath, narrowing his eyes at him as he slowly raised the dumbbell in the air again. “Say you understand.” 

Neil’s bloodshot eyes flicked from Billy’s enraged face to his trembling fist.

“Say it!” Billy yelled, bringing the dumbbell down onto the floor again; he heard a floorboard crack beneath the rug.

“Alright, goddamnit,” Neil muttered, rubbing his nose and smearing blood in his moustache and across his cheek. “I… I understand.”

“What the hell, Dad?” Billy couldn’t keep the emotional quiver out of his voice; he swallowed a lump in his throat, determined not to cry. 

Unbidden, a memory floated to the forefront of his mind: Billy’s parents had taken him to Disneyland for his fifth birthday, and his father had hoisted him onto his shoulders so he could see over all the people and not get lost. Billy could remember holding on tightly to his father’s forehead with one hand and clutching a colorful lollipop in the other.

_Get out of my head, I don’t want to think about that shit right now._

“Why did you have to go and fuck everything up, huh?"

Neil’s shoulders sagged and he looked up at his son with empty blue eyes. 

“Yeah, don’t answer. It’s fine.” Billy shook his head with disgust. “I already know.”

“I miss her,” Neil said hoarsely, rubbing the dark bruises blooming across his face. “I… I miss the way things used to be, when she was—”

“Don’t talk about Mom!” Billy snapped, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. “You're not gonna slither out of this by reminiscing about the good old days, alright? I'm not kidding around. If you’re not gone when I get back I’m calling Chief Hopper, I swear. I’ll tell him and Susan all about your damn coke and what you did to Steve.”

Neil stared glumly at the floor. He looked thoroughly exhausted and defeated.

_Maybe he’s coming down from his high. This sad fucker had better not just pass out on my floor._

As Billy stood up and stretched, he spotted the broken chain and little pendant from his mother lying on his bed. He picked up the pieces, then went to his desk and stuffed his copy of ‘Tess of the d’Urbervilles' and his Scorpions cassette in his jacket pocket. His ear stung, so he pulled out the little silver earring and tossed it in a drawer.

“I hope I never see you again,” he said, taking one last look at the pathetic shell of his father, lying limply on the floor.

..........

The frigid January afternoon air stung Billy’s bruised face like a slap as he walked briskly to his car, twirling his keys on his finger.

_There's only one person I want to see right now. He'd better be home._

He got in his Camaro and slammed the door, consciously refusing to look at himself in the mirror. He leaned over to open his glove compartment, pulled out a bottle of Tylenol and popped four in his mouth, swallowing them dry. 

After lighting a cigarette, he put his Scorpion cassette into the tape player and cranked up the volume, bobbing his head to the beat. Still high on adrenaline after besting his father, his hands shook slightly as he gripped the steering wheel and sped down Old Cherry Road, the house shrinking in his rearview mirror.

‘Still Loving You’ was playing by the time he reached Loch Nora, the affluent suburb where Steve lived; Billy’s favorite song on the album was 'Rock You Like A Hurricane', but on this particular afternoon he couldn’t help but sing along to the sentimental rock ballad.

_"If we go again all the way from the start, I would try to change the things that killed our love..."_

He sped down Steve’s quiet tree-lined street, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. 

_"Yes, I’ve hurt your pride, and I know what you’ve been through…"_

When he pulled up outside the imposing house, he left his motor running for a minute so he could enjoy the heater and music while he checked his hair in the mirror.

_"You should give me a chance, this can’t be the end, I’m still loving you."_

“Ugh, what the hell,” he muttered distastefully at his reflection, twisting his head to the side to try to see the back. The Tylenol had started taking effect, lessening the throbbing ache in his head, but his earlobe still stung when he touched it.

The five-inch long tail of hair he had been vainly cultivating for the last few years was gone, and the hair remaining on the back of his head was shaggy and uneven. Fortunately, the curls on the top and sides remained unchanged; he pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt to conceal the damage. There was nothing he could do to hide the cut on his lip and the darkening bruises on his face.

As Billy walked up to the double wooden doors and rang the doorbell, he prayed that Steve would be home. A slender, middle-aged brunette in an expensive-looking navy pantsuit opened the door and smiled. She had the same pretty brown eyes as Steve.

“Hello, can I help you?”

Billy returned her smile with one of his own. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Harrington. My name is Billy Hargrove; we’ve spoken before, on the phone.”

“Of course, Billy,” she said kindly. “How could I forget such a… well-mannered young man. Are you here to see Steven?”

Billy nodded, holding up his copy of ‘Tess of the d'Urbervilles’ as proof of his purely academic motives. 

“We’ve got this English assignment to work on. Is he home, by any chance?”

“Yes, he is.” She stood back to let him pass, and Billy looked around in awe. A vast wooden ceiling stretched high above his head, with a modern-looking staircase leading up to the second floor. There was a large painting of birds in flight on a nearby wall.

“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Harrington.” Billy glanced down at his feet, and saw that the rug he was standing on also had flying white birds on it. “I like all the, uh, geese.”

“Thank you, dear. Those are cranes, actually.” She looked at his bruised face with concern. “Are you alright? We have a first-aid kit, if you need it.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. It looks worse than it is, don’t worry.”  

“Well, Steve is upstairs, I think.” Mrs. Harrington smiled again and gestured to the staircase behind them. “His bedroom is the second on the left. You boys let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

“Sure will, Mrs. Harrington.” 

Billy recognized the familiar look in her eyes, having seen it before in Mrs. Wheeler and countless others. He was well aware of the effect he had on the opposite sex and had learned that it was often useful to have someone’s mother on your side.

_Maybe Mrs. Harrington will show me Steve’s baby pictures someday, or tell me embarrassing stories about him, or what his favorite foods are._

As Billy ascended the carpeted steps, he gazed up at the lofty pine ceiling, thirty feet above him. 

_Imagine growing up in a house like this._

He followed Mrs. Harrington's directions and turned left at the top of the staircase. Billy found a half-closed door and knocked softly, peering into the room. It was at least twice the size of his own bedroom, with bold geometric wallpaper, a desk in one corner, and a bed…

_Oh my god._

Billy froze when he noticed Steve curled up on top of the covers with a copy of ‘Tess’ next to him. He stood uncertainly in the doorway for a minute, then approached the bed cautiously; he could hear Steve snoring softly. He wanted to lie down behind him on the bed and curl his body protectively around his. He could almost picture himself smelling Steve's hair and kissing the nape of his neck.

_He looks so peaceful… should I just go?_

Steve’s calm, sleeping face was so captivating that Billy couldn’t bring himself to look away, let alone leave. His thick, straight brown hair tumbled across his forehead and his lips were parted slightly. He was wearing a green turtleneck sweater, and the way he was curled on his side had caused it to ride up slightly, revealing a tantalizing strip of bare skin above the waistband of his chinos.

Billy gripped his book tightly as he stepped closer to the bed; the urge to reach out and touch him was hard to resist, especially when he saw the tempting pair of Venusian dimples on Steve’s lower back.

_I’d better get out of here before I do something crazy._

He backed away reluctantly and turned to leave; the door creaked loudly when he pulled it open. Billy froze, glancing over his shoulder at the bed. 

Steve’s eyes were open and staring at him.

“Am I dreaming…” he murmured drowsily as he sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Or is that you, Hargrove?”

Billy’s heart tightened.

_That’s my line._

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said with a small smile, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t cream your pants.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I dunno… impromptu study date?” Billy held up his book and tossed it carelessly onto the dresser. “Looks like our old buddy Tess has been putting you to sleep, though.”

Steve rubbed his eyes sleepily and yawned. “Yeah, I couldn’t make it past the fourth chapter.” 

“Should I go?” Billy asked hesitantly, slowly taking a step back and gesturing towards the door. “I didn’t think you’d be sleeping—”

“Whoa, wait a sec… what the hell happened?” Steve scooted off the bed and approached Billy, his brown eyes softening with concern. “Did you get in a fight since the last time I saw you?”

“Oh, this? You should see the other guy.” Billy ran his hand over the painful bruises on his jaw. “It’s no big deal, I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Steve said doubtfully, shaking his head. His hair was adorably rumpled after his nap; some of it was sticking straight up in the air. “Let me know if you want some antiseptic or something; that cut on your lip must hurt.”

Since Billy was wearing his biker boots and Steve was in socks, they were exactly the same height; he swallowed and tried not to stare too much at the cute moles on his cheek.

“And why’s your hood up like that?” Steve continued curiously, stepping closer to him. “Having a bad hair day?”

“You can say that again,” Billy muttered, tensing as Steve extended his hand to push back the hood of his sweatshirt. 

_Well, I wasn’t gonna be able to hide it forever._

Steve’s eyes widened with surprise when he saw his mangled hair.

“What the hell…?” 

Billy looked down at his boots, feeling his cheeks growing warm. “Pretty bad, huh?”

_I must look so pathetic. Maybe I should’ve stopped at a barbershop before coming here… oh, well. Too late._

“Just, uh… different. I’ve never seen it this short,” Steve said sympathetically. “But who—”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Billy mumbled, self-consciously pulling his hood back up to cover his hair.

Steve took a step back, regarding him with a strange look in his kind brown eyes.

“Hold on, I’ll be right back,” he said as he abruptly left the room, returning a few moments later with a pair of scissors and a towel. “Mind if I try fixing it?”

_Didn’t see that coming._

Billy raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

He didn’t completely trust Steve’s hairdressing skills, but his vanity was crushed beneath the prospect of getting to feel Steve’s hands touching his hair.

_I might never have another opportunity this good._

“You could just go to the barber shop, instead, if you don’t think it’s a good idea…” Steve said uncertainly.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Billy insisted, suddenly very glad he hadn’t stopped to get his hair fixed before coming over. “Just don’t make me look like a _complete_ idiot, okay?”

“Well, I’ll do my best, but no promises,” Steve gestured to his desk chair and opened the curtains to let in more light. “Have a seat.”

Billy sat down obediently and remained perfectly still as the towel was draped around his shoulders; he had to summon every ounce of self-control to remain calm when he felt Steve’s fingers tentatively touching his hair.

“What happened here?” Steve asked with quiet concern, brushing Billy’s pink, swollen earlobe with his thumb. “Did you get it caught on something?”

Even though it still hurt, Billy enjoyed the sensation of Steve’s gentle touch on his ear. He didn’t want to spoil the moment by talking about his stupid dad. “I, uh… yeah. Something like that.”

“You’re lucky it didn’t tear all the way through,” Steve murmured. “Looks painful.”

“It is.”

“Oh, sorry.” Steve dropped his hand quickly and cleared his throat. “I’ve thought about getting a piercing from time to time… my parents would hate it, though.”

“Well, I think it'd be sexy as hell,” Billy said in a low voice, glancing up at Steve. 

Steve’s cheeks turned pink and he turned his attention back to Billy’s hair. “Face forward and keep still, okay? I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You’d better not,” Billy muttered, closing his eyes and savoring the feeling of Steve’s fingers running through his wavy, golden brown locks.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take any more off than I have to.”

Billy squirmed when he felt snippets of hair falling on his neck. “That tickles.”

“What’d I just say about not moving?”

“Sorry.” Billy remained perfectly still while Steve continued to clip his hair; he focused on the picture of a red sports car hanging on the wall over the desk. For a minute or two, the only sounds in the room were the scissors, their breathing, and the clock on the wall.

_He really ought to put on some music or something._

“I wish mine would curl like this,” Steve sighed enviously, twisting one of Billy’s spiral locks around his finger. 

“Are you kidding?” Billy tilted his head back and looked straight up into Steve’s eyes. “Your hair is incredible.”

“Well… thanks,” Steve said self-consciously, clearing his throat again as he passed Billy a mirror and pulled the towel from his shoulders. “I’m no Vidal Sassoon, but I think it looks pretty good.”

“You’re finished? That was quick.” 

Billy turned his face, but it was hard to see the back of his head. His hair was still long and wavy, it just didn’t hang down past his ears anymore. He wound a curl around his finger and it sprang back into place on his forehead.

"I just made the back look a little less shaggy, that's all," Steve said modestly. "It's no big deal."

“Not bad,” Billy nodded with approval. “You could make a career out of this.”

“Hardly,” Steve scoffed, tossing the towel aside and setting the scissors down on his desk. “You think my parents would let me be a hairdresser? Anyway, it’ll grow back, if you want to go back to your, uh, signature look.” 

“What do you use on yours to give it so much volume?” Billy asked curiously, rising from the chair and brushing stray, itchy hairs from the back of his neck. “Aqua Net?”

“Hell, no,” Steve scoffed as he went to rummage in his closet, returning with a bottle of Farrah Fawcett hairspray.

“I told Dustin, so I guess I might as well tell you,” he muttered as he passed it to Billy. 

“I’ve heard of this stuff,” Billy muttered as he examined the bottle. “Is it really that great?”

“Yeah, but Fabergé went out of business last year,” Steve said sadly. “Such a bummer. I bought a whole case when I heard the news; it’s stashed in my closet. I only use four puffs at a time, to make it last.”

Billy laughed at his endearingly forlorn expression. “Are you gonna cry when your secret hairspray stash finally runs out?”

“No,” Steve sighed heavily, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “I’ll just have to try something new.”

_Try something new, huh?_

Billy stepped closer to the bed and looked down at Steve. They stared at each other for a few moments; Billy was weighing the potential risks of making a move just as a soft knock made them both jump. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mrs. Harrington said politely, poking her head around the doorway. “I’m going to the store; is there anything in particular you boys want? I’m not sure how long you were planning on staying, Billy, but if there’s a certain kind of pop you like to drink…”

“That’s awfully nice of you, ma’am, but I’ll, um… probably be heading out soon, actually.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you, dear. You two behave yourselves, okay?”

When she closed the door again, the tension in the room was palpable.

_God, I wanna lock the door and pin him down on the bed and hear him moan my name—_

“I could use a cigarette,” Steve said abruptly, crossing the room to glance out his window. “How about you?”

_He probably feels it, too… the danger of us being alone like this._

Five minutes later they were in Steve’s backyard, bundled up warmly in their jackets and smoking in companionable silence. They stood near the sliding glass doors atop a wooden patio with steps leading down to the Harrington’s pool; beyond the backyard was a densely wooded area, from which they could hear an occasional bird or squirrel.

_I can't believe he grew up with all this. It’s like a house from one of those Better Homes and Gardens magazines Susan likes to read._

Billy couldn’t stop reaching up to touch his hair; he wasn’t used to it being only an inch long above his neck.

“Relax, it looks fine,” Steve said, tilting his head back and blowing a plume of smoke in the air. “So, are you ever gonna tell me what happened, or should I just assume that Max chopped it off in your sleep or something, as a prank?”

Billy sighed heavily and looked down at his cigarette, flicking off the ash. “It was my dad.”

“Shit. Did he… do that to your face, too?” Steve asked quietly, glancing over at him with cautious concern. “And your ear?”

“Yeah, he said I looked like a…” Billy swallowed, almost choking on the word. “A fag.”

“Are you gonna be okay? With him around, I mean.”

“He won’t be around much longer, as it happens. So yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Really?” Steve asked curiously. “Why, where’s he going?”

“I don’t really give a shit, to be honest. As long as he stays the hell out of our lives.”

“Right,” Steve said quickly, sounding uncomfortable. “Sorry, I um… I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine.” Billy looked over at Steve, wishing he could read his expression behind those dark Ray-Bans. “I don’t mind, if it’s you.”

_I should tell him what Neil did, but... he might think of that night every time he looks at me. He might never let me touch him._

“Your dad wasn’t… hurting Max or anything like that, was he?” Steve asked carefully, glancing over at him. “I’ve heard of guys doing pervy stuff like that, and sometimes it’s the last person you’d expect…”

“Nah, he’s always been nice to Max, as far as I know. But that fucker has a lot of issues. Hopefully he’ll stay away for good.”

A chilly breeze swept past them; Billy pulled his hood up and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, shivering. 

_Jesus, these Indiana winters are no joke._

Steve took a long drag on his cigarette and looked up; the passing clouds and the pale blue sky were reflected in his black sunglasses.

“Why do you, uh…” He cleared his throat, still gazing up at the sky. “Why do you like me so much?”

Taken aback, Billy shrugged and responded without thinking. “What’s not to like?”

Steve looked down with a wry smile as he dropped his spent cigarette on the patio and crushed it under the toe of his sneaker.

“I mean, I’m flattered and all, but… are you sure you’re not just bored? I know there probably isn’t much going on in Hawkins compared to California.”

“Believe it or not, Harrington,” Billy said as he reached out and pulled off Steve’s sunglasses. “This puny town has been growing on me.”

“What are you doing…?” Steve squinted in the sudden brightness of the wintry sunlight, watching Billy set the Ray-Bans down on the patio table. 

“I’ll always love Cali, but if I’d never come to this boring shithole I would’ve missed out on meeting some pretty decent people, so Hawkins isn’t that terrible, I guess.”

“Pretty decent people, huh?” Steve’s face remained impassive, and he crossed his arms across his chest.

_Just tell him, goddamnit._

“Well, not _people_ so much as… person.” Billy’s mouth was getting dry; he swallowed nervously as he fiddled with the drawstring on his hoodie. “At first I couldn't stand it here, but then I met you, and now I wouldn't want to leave.”

Steve looked down at his shoes, his forehead furrowing with confusion. “But I’m not… I don’t…”

“You don’t… what?” Billy cocked his head and willed him to meet his eyes. “You don’t like me? Not even a little?”

“I didn’t…” Steve’s voice cracked and he trailed off, blushing and refusing to look up. He cleared his throat uncertainly. “I didn’t say that.”

_Fuck, he’s so cute when he’s flustered._

Emboldened, Billy stepped towards him and tilted up his chin, letting his fingers linger on his jaw.

“What were you gonna say, then?”

“I, um…” Steve finally looked directly at him, his wide brown eyes bewildered and wistful. He swallowed and tried to speak. “It’s just that I… I…”

_Yeah, he definitely likes me._

“It’s okay, Steve.” Billy cupped his face in both hands and pulled him closer, his voice deep and reassuring. “I already know.”

Trying to ignore the hammering of his heart, Billy closed the gap between them. He pressed his mouth against Steve’s, kissing him as sweetly and seductively as he knew how. 

_If I suck at this, he’ll push me away and that’ll be the end of it._

Steve stood there stiffly for a few moments, allowing Billy to continue; he slowly unfolded his arms and left them hanging awkwardly at his sides, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Billy moved one of his hands from Steve’s cheek to the nape of his neck; his hair was just as thick and silky as he’d imagined. His other hand drifted down to Steve’s waist and tugged him closer; he wished there weren’t so many thick layers of clothing between them. 

Waves of ecstatic relief flooded through him when he finally felt Steve’s body relax and his trembling lips part hesitantly to allow Billy’s tongue inside. His mouth was warm and tasted like cigarettes. 

_That’s more like it. Good boy._

Billy lifted up Steve’s arms, silently encouraging him to loop them around his shoulders. Steve followed his lead compliantly, and Billy wrapped his own arms around his waist, squeezing their bodies snugly together. The cut on his lower lip stung, but Billy ignored it as he explored Steve’s mouth with his tongue and slid his hands down to his hips. 

Steve withdrew slightly, panting and wild-eyed. “Holy shit…” 

Unwilling to let the moment end, Billy pulled him closer and kissed him greedily, savoring the warmth of his breath and the coolness of his rosy cheeks. He felt a sudden jolt of yearning when Steve tightened his arms around Billy’s neck and opened his mouth just a little bit wider. 

_I want to devour you._

Stumbling awkwardly as Billy guided him backwards, Steve exhaled sharply when he bumped against the large sliding glass door. His unsteady, rapid breathing excited Billy, who inclined his face to kiss the warm, mole-flecked skin of Steve’s neck just below his jaw; the soft green cashmere sweater he was wearing under his coat tickled Billy’s nose and smelled faintly of cigarettes and expensive cologne. 

“Let’s go inside,” Billy mumbled huskily against his throat, planting slow, soft kisses over the faded yellow bruises. “It’s freezing out here.”

_We could go back to your bedroom and warm each other up…_

Steve pushed him away, gently but firmly. “I’m, uh… not sure that’s such a good idea right now.”

“Oh. Okay,” Billy nodded, trying not to let his disappointment show. “You need some more time?”

“The thing is, I don’t know—”

“Hey, it’s cool, man,” Billy interjected, taking a step back and holding up his hands respectfully. “Don’t worry about it. No pressure, okay?”

“What?” Steve’s brow crinkled and he shook his head. “No, I was just saying I don’t know when my mom’s coming back from the store, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Billy felt a little foolish for jumping to conclusions. 

_My brain stops working when I’m around him._

“I wish I had my own place,” Steve said quietly as he picked up his sunglasses and slid them back on. 

“If you did, would you invite me over?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Steve replied nonchalantly, running his hand through his hair. All the kissing had made his lips and cheeks a little rosier than usual. “Maybe. If you promised to behave.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Billy winked mischievously; he enjoyed making Steve blush and struggle to maintain his composure.

They both looked up sharply when they heard a car door slam nearby.

“Shit, is that your mom?”

“Must be; my dad’s at work, as usual.” Steve began walking around the side of the house. “C’mon, she probably wants help carrying stuff.”

Billy loped a few paces behind him, admiring the shape of Steve’s long, slender legs as he walked briskly to the driveway in front of the house.

“Hey, Mom!” Steve waved as they rounded the corner and spotted her opening the trunk of her shiny beige Cadillac.

“That was some quick shopping,” Billy muttered under his breath. “It’s lucky she didn’t come home and see us when I had you up against the glass door. That would’ve been pretty awkward…”

“Yes, it would’ve been,” Steve hissed over his shoulder. “Now do me a favor and shut the hell up before she hears—”

“Hello again, Mrs. Harrington,” Billy called courteously, jogging over to her side and flashing his most charming smile. 

There were four overstuffed grocery bags in the trunk and he hoisted up two with his left arm, then reached for the others. 

“C’mon, pass me something to carry,” Steve protested, holding out his hands. “Don’t do it all yourself; you’ll drop something.”

“You’re right.” Billy pulled a carton of eggs from one of the bags and handed it to him. “Wouldn’t wanna break those.” 

Steve stood there holding the eggs and looking annoyed as Billy gathered the remaining two bags into his right arm and carried all four to the front door.

“Such a strong young man, my goodness…” Mrs. Harrington hastened to open the double doors, standing aside and watching him with an admiring smile. “Thank you very much, dear.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Harrington.” Billy glanced over his shoulder at Steve, who rolled his eyes and followed behind, stoically carrying the carton of eggs.

Seeing Steve’s cheerful mother in such a comfortable, domestic setting made him think of Susan; he wondered whether she and Max had come home from the store yet. 

_Hopefully they take their time shopping, so Neil will be gone by the time they get back. Max probably won’t give a shit, but Susan will be really depressed, I bet. It’s for the best, though._

“So,” Mrs. Harrington said brightly as she rummaged inside one of the brown paper bags Billy had set on the kitchen counter. “How long have you boys been friends?”

“Oh, just since the start of this semester.” Billy glanced over at Steve, who flushed and looked down at the eggs he was still holding.

“Do you have any classes together?” Mrs. Harrington asked as she stuffed a head of lettuce and a bag of carrots in the vegetable drawer.

“Yes, ma’am,” Billy nodded, piling apples and bananas in the large fruit bowl on the kitchen table. “Gym and English.”

“That’s right, you mentioned some sort of English assignment when you got here.” Mrs. Harrington glanced over at her son. “Steve didn’t do very well in English last semester, unfortunately.”

“Mom, he doesn’t care.” Steve looked embarrassed as he reached past her to put the eggs in the fridge. “Don’t bug him with that stuff.”

“Are you any good in English class, by any chance? Essays and that sort of thing?”

Billy shrugged. “I do okay, I guess.”

“He’s being modest, Mom,” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes and pulling a cucumber from one of the bags. “He’s one of those annoying, gets-straight-As-without-breaking-a-sweat types.”

“C’mon, Steve, you’re making me blush,” Billy demurred, leaning back against the counter. “It’s not my fault I don’t find the curriculum particularly challenging.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve grumbled, pointing the cucumber at him and scowling. “Stop trying to make me look dumb.”

Billy cocked an eyebrow and grinned suggestively, glancing from Steve to the vegetable gripped in his hand; Steve flushed and hastily turned to put the cucumber away in the fridge.

“Straight As, huh?” Mrs. Harrington regarded Billy with a twinkle in her eye. “Would you perhaps be interested in some part-time employment?"

“Mom, _what_?” Steve slammed the refrigerator door and put his hands on his hips. “You can’t be serious—”

“Hush, Steven. Your grades are abysmal.” Mrs. Harrington motioned for Steve to be quiet and returned her attention to Billy. “What do you think? I could pay you, say… five dollars an hour to tutor him a couple afternoons each week.”

“That’s very generous, Mrs. Harrington. But it really isn’t necessary to pay me—”

“Oh, no, I insist.” She smiled kindly. “If you can help Steve get his grades up for this last semester, I’ll give you a bonus, too. He really is a smart boy, he just needs to buckle down and get serious about studying.”

“Jeez, Mom,” Steve groaned and slouched against the fridge, running his fingers through his hair. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Don’t be silly. What _should_ embarrass you is the grades you’ve been getting, young man,” his mother said sternly. “I’m only trying to help you succeed, and I’m sure your friend here wants the best for you, too.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Billy nodded solemnly, trying to keep a straight face when Steve glared at him. “Only the best.”

_Fuck, he’s so cute. I want to kiss him some more._

“Mom, I’m sure he doesn’t have time for—”

“When can I start, Mrs. Harrington?” 

Billy could hardly believe how well things were turning out. He no longer had to worry about coming up with excuses for coming to visit Steve after their Tess project was behind them, and he had even secured a small source of income.

_I’m gonna get paid to spend time with the boy of my dreams. It’s too perfect to believe._

“Start today, if you like. Shall we say… an hour of English, for starters? See how that goes.”

“Sure, Mrs. Harrington.” Billy smiled at her, suppressing the urge to laugh at the look of baffled alarm on Steve’s face.

_Yeah, let’s see how this goes._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos! If you'd like to follow my Stranger Things/Harringrove blog on Tumblr I'm @stranger-ships.


	10. A Night Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up right where the previous one left off, with an impromptu tutoring session in Steve's kitchen.

_Well, this should be interesting._

“So, do you wanna head back up to your room, or…?”

“No,” Steve responded hastily, without meeting Billy’s eyes. “The table in here should be fine. More, uh… space. Better light.”

Billy smiled knowingly.

_He doesn’t know what would happen if we were alone in his room… probably a good call, if he actually wants to get any homework done._

Steve picked up his backpack from under the table and sank into a chair with a resigned sigh. Billy sat down across from him and checked his watch; it was almost four o’clock.

“Well, where should we start?” Steve asked as he pulled his notebooks and binder from his bag and dropped them unceremoniously on the table.

“Where else? At the beginning, with an outline.” Billy reached across the table to open Steve’s overstuffed binder. “Jeez, you didn’t empty it out after last semester? This thing is a mess.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to it eventually.”

“That’s what you always say, dear,” Mrs. Harrington piped up from across the kitchen, where she had been leaning against the counter, reading a recipe torn from a magazine. “Oh, and why aren’t you wearing your glasses, Steve? You’ll strain your eyes, squinting at your notes like that.”

 _Glasses? I’ve never noticed him wearing glasses before._  

“I’m not squinting, Mom,” Steve muttered, looking embarrassed.

“Don’t be silly, honey,” Mrs. Harrington persisted. “You didn’t forget them in your locker again, did you?”

“No,” Steve grumbled as he leaned down to rummage in his backpack. 

After a few moments, he pulled out a rather large pair of glasses with tortoiseshell frames and slid them on, refusing to meet Billy’s eyes.

“Don’t say anything,” he muttered quietly, shuffling through his cluttered binder for a blank sheet of paper. 

“What’s there to say?” Billy tried not to laugh, but he could feel the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile.

“I dunno, maybe that I look like a huge dweeb?”

“You don’t look like a dweeb,” Billy scoffed, glancing over his shoulder as Mrs. Harrington left the room. He turned back to Steve and lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “I think you look cute as hell.”

Steve’s cheeks turned pink as he quickly looked down and began writing; the only sounds in the kitchen were the humming of the dishwasher and the soft scritching of his pencil. 

Billy crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, thinking about how adorably studious Steve looked in his green turtleneck and glasses, his brow furrowed in concentration as he gripped his pencil and covered half the page in a boyish scrawl.

_I can picture him in one of those private school uniforms, with knee socks and shorts… maybe a sweater vest, too. And those nerdy glasses, of course. I’d corner him in the library and push him up against a bookcase…_

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat when their eyes met across the table and flinched when Billy gently nudged his ankle with the toe of his leather boot. 

“Cut it out,” he mumbled under his breath. His pretty brown eyes seemed slightly larger than usual behind his glasses. “I’m never gonna finish if you keep that up.”

“Keep what up?” Billy asked innocently. “Are you almost done with that outline? I could take a look at it while you work on your thesis.”

“I can’t concentrate,” Steve muttered, clearing his throat as he moved his feet farther away from Billy’s. “This whole thing was a crazy idea. How are you gonna have time for this tutoring crap when you’ve got about a hundred years of detention and anger management, anyway?”

“That’s after-school stuff,” Billy said dismissively, staring into Steve’s eyes. “But my evenings are all yours, if you want.”

Steve bit his lip and looked away. 

Their first-ever hour of tutoring wasn’t very productive, but at least Steve had managed to finish his outline. After Mrs. Harrington had handed Billy a crisp five-dollar bill and said goodbye, he and Steve walked down the driveway towards Billy’s Camaro. The sun was setting behind the trees and the air was getting colder.

_I don’t want to go home yet._

As though he had read his mind, Steve suddenly cleared his throat and asked, “Mind if I bum a cigarette?”

The boys ambled aimlessly down the quiet, affluent street; they walked less than a foot apart and occasionally bumped elbows. Steve had forgotten to take off his glasses, and Billy could hardly pay attention as he rambled about school because he looked so good in his green cashmere sweater and dark navy toggle coat.

_He looks like he stepped out of a brochure for an Ivy League college._

“Honestly, how can she expect us to do a presentation _and_ an essay? I’ve got too much on my plate already, with that chemistry test coming up on Wednesday…”

_He seems pretty stressed about it. I could just write him an essay._

“Five thousand words is too damn much,” Steve continued fretfully, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “And it’s due on Friday! I should’ve started it sooner.”

_I wonder how grateful he’d be…_

“I’ll bet you’re already done with yours.”

Billy snapped out of his risqué reverie. "Sorry, my what?"

"Your essay for English." 

“Haven’t started it yet,” Billy admitted. He cleared his throat and met Steve’s eyes. “Look, if you want me to write one for you, just ask.”

“No, that’s not what I…” Steve stopped in his tracks, his eyebrows raised dubiously. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“How much would you want for it? Forty bucks?”

“Really, Harrington?”

Steve looked down at the ground and nudged a pinecone with his toe. “Well, if it’s gonna cost more than that, I’ll take my chances writing it myself…”

“C’mon.” Billy took Steve’s hand and tugged gently. “You don't really think I want your money, do you?”

Steve chuckled nervously and flicked his cigarette away. “What, uh… what do you want, then?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Billy said quietly, tracing his calloused thumb along Steve’s soft palm; he slowly pulled his hand up to his mouth. “But this seems like a good place to start.”  

Steve’s eyes widened at the sensation of Billy’s warm breath against his cold skin; he glanced around uneasily as Billy stepped closer, even though the street was deserted. His abundant chestnut hair was gorgeously glossy in the dimming sunlight slanting through the trees. 

“We shouldn’t… out here where anyone could see. Mrs. Greer in that house over there is nosy as hell.”

“Mrs. Greer can blow me,” Billy muttered, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and squeezing him tightly.   

“Gross... she's like, eighty years old—”

“It’s a fucking figure of speech, Einstein.” Billy kissed him softly on the cheek, lingering for a moment to whisper in his ear. “If anyone around here was gonna blow me, I think we both know who my first choice would be.”

“You’re so crazy,” Steve mumbled, blushing and squirming in his arms. “Let… let me go.”

Billy grudgingly released him, then glanced down at his watch. “Damn. I’ve gotta go before the store closes.”

“What store?”

“Uh… Earl’s Sporting Goods, I think it’s called.” Billy turned and they began walking back towards Steve’s house. “Over on Main Street, I think? Probably my best bet for buying a skateboard in this puny town.”

“Oh,” Steve nodded, comprehension dawning on his face. “For Max, right?”

Billy looked over at him sharply. “How’d you know?”

“One of the kids told me,” Steve said with a shrug. “It came up during a conversation we had a long while back, that’s all.”

“What conversation?” Billy asked, growing annoyed. He couldn't stand it when people talked about him behind his back. “Which kid told you?”

“…Dustin,” Steve responded reluctantly.

“Who the hell is Dustin?”

“He probably heard it from Max. They hang out all the time; I’m sure it came up. She’s the zoomer in the party, after all... can’t do much zooming on a busted skateboard.”

Billy stared at him blankly. “What the fuck is a zoomer?”

“I don’t know, it’s some nerdy thing the kids came up with.”

“Well, whatever,” Billy said dismissively, rummaging in his jacket pocket for his keys as they approached the Camaro. “So listen… do you want to come?”

“Come where? To Earl’s?”

“Yeah,” Billy nodded, running his hand through his hair.

Steve’s brow wrinkled quizzically. “Um… why?”

_‘Cause I like hanging out with you and I’m not ready to call it a night._

Billy shrugged. “You got something better to do?”

Steve stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Alright, screw it. I’ll go tell my mom, hang on.”

Billy leaned against his Camaro and watched Steve jog back to his front door. His mind was spinning; he hadn’t actually expected him to agree. He opened the passenger door and scooped the cassette tapes and other clutter off the seat, stuffing it all in the glove compartment.

Somehow, seeing Steve slide into the passenger seat a minute later excited Billy; he struggled to keep his expression impassive, trying not to grin like a lovestruck idiot. When he turned on the engine, his Scorpions cassette picked up where it had left off.

_“I need your love, I’m still loving you, baby…”_

Billy hastily switched off the tape and cleared his throat. “Do you like the Scorpions?”

“Um, I’m not sure if I’ve heard of them.” Steve buckled his seatbelt and swept his hand through his hair. “You didn’t have to turn it off, if that’s what you were listening to. What’s the album called?”

“Love At First Sting.” 

“Oh,” Steve said awkwardly, looking sorry that he’d asked. 

“It came out last year. But I’m in the mood for something else tonight, I think.” Billy switched over to the FM radio and fiddled with the knob as he drove through Loch Nora.

“Here, I’ll do it. You focus on driving.” Steve swatted his hand off the stereo and turned on the local rock station; ‘In a Big Country’ began to play and Steve smiled, turning up the volume. “I like this song.”

Billy lit a cigarette and rolled down his window, glancing over occasionally to watch Steve bobbing his head along to the music and sing along with the chorus in a soft tenor. Billy passed his lit Marlboro to him so he could take a drag; even the smallest brush of Steve’s fingers was enough to make Billy’s entire body tense with caged yearning.

_“In a big country, dreams stay with you like a lover’s voice ‘cross the mountainside. Stay alive… Pull up your head off the floor, come up screaming, cry out for everything you ever might have wanted…”_

It didn’t take long for Billy to drive from Steve’s neighborhood to the busy shopping center in town. He parked his Camaro in the lot behind Earl’s Sporting Goods Emporium and strolled in beside Steve.

He made a beeline for the corner of the store with roller skates and skateboards and began browsing the wares. There weren’t many to choose from, but there were a couple that looked similar to Max’s old skateboard, and they already had their trucks and wheels attached. As he selected the nicest one and ran his fingers over the rough, black deck grip covering the top, he remembered skating with his middle school friends back in California.

_Fuck, that all feels like a lifetime ago._

Meanwhile, Steve wandered around aimlessly, looking at a nearby display of camping equipment. A tent had been opened on a patch of artificial grass, with kerosene lanterns and sleeping bags beside it. 

“Hey, what do you think of this?” Billy called out at Steve, showing him a board with an eye-catching green and blue pattern.

“Nice,” Steve nodded with approval. He held up a small plastic shovel with a price tag dangling from it. “Guess what this is for.”

Billy shrugged as he tucked the skateboard under his arm. “Looks like something a little kid would take to the beach.”

“Yeah, but it’s in the camping section, right?” Steve prompted, raising his eyebrows expressively.

Billy made a face. “Okay, so… it’s for digging holes when you’ve gotta take a shit in the woods, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah!” Steve laughed. 

Billy smirked as he turned towards the check-out line. “Save the potty humor for your pre-pubescent dork squad.”

“Hang on,” Steve called after him. “I just remembered something I need.”

Curious, Billy followed him to the men’s apparel section. “What’re you looking for?”

“Nothing interesting,” Steve answered absently, looking at a display of men’s hosiery. 

“You short on socks or something?”

“Yeah, most of them have holes in them.”

“Damn, Harrington. Thinking about me so much you wore holes in all your jerk-off socks, huh?”

“You wish, perv.” Steve scowled and punched his arm. 

Bored and restless, Billy wandered down the aisle to admire the jock straps, and brought one over to dangle in front of Steve.

“I’ll write your next essay, too, if you model this for me,” he said with a wink.

“Hell, no!” Steve hissed, smacking him on the chest with a pack of socks. “Put that back.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy grumbled as he tossed the jock strap aside.

_We’ll see about that._

He set the skateboard down on the floor and propelled himself smoothly down the aisle; he hadn’t skated in years and was pleased that it came back to him so easily.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Steve called after him with a trace of admiration, walking faster to keep up.

“Had to get around somehow when I was a kid, before I got the Camaro.” Billy moved his foot quickly and flipped the board up, hopping over it and landing lightly on his feet. “And I wasn’t the bike-riding type.”

“Jeez, what a show-off,” Steve muttered, shaking his head.

“Nah, that’s nothing,” Billy scoffed, reaching out as he sped past a shelf full of volleyballs. “ _This_ is showing off.”

Feeling strangely hyper and buoyant, he pulled a ball from the display and spun it expertly on his index finger like a basketball as he skated towards the check-out.

“Excuse me, young man, please be careful with the merchandise,” a middle-aged employee called sternly from behind the register, eyeing him suspiciously.

Billy was enjoying himself so much he had almost forgotten about the bruises on his face and the cut on his lip.

_He probably thinks I’m gonna try to steal something._

He put the volleyball aside and paid for the skateboard; Steve stubbornly refused to let him buy his new gym socks. When he glanced down at his watch, he was surprised to see that it was already almost six o’clock.

_Susan is probably home crying over that asshole right about now. I don’t even know for sure if he left. If he didn’t, I’m kicking his ass and calling the Chief._

Back in the parking lot, Billy hid Max’s new skateboard in the trunk of his car; he planned to give it to her the next day. 

Steve opened the passenger door to toss his package of socks on the seat, but didn’t get in; he just stood there with his elbow resting on the opened door, staring off into the distance. 

Billy slammed the trunk closed and looked over at him curiously. “Something on your mind, man?”

Steve looked up and shook his head. “Not really.”

_Maybe he doesn’t want to go home yet, either._

“Um… are you hungry?” Billy asked. “Cause I’m starving, as it happens.”

He hadn't eaten anything but half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and that was hours ago; his stomach growled at the prospect of a hot dinner.

“There’s a great pizza place across the street,” Steve suggested.

“Cool, let's go.”

Fortunately, the pizzeria wasn’t too crowded despite it being a Saturday night; the modest establishment was filled with typical Italian-restaurant décor and smelled like freshly baked garlic bread. Steve chose a booth in the back and they sat on opposite sides of the table, reading their menus.

“So, what toppings do you want?” 

“I don’t care,” Steve replied with a shrug. “Anything but mushrooms, I guess. Or anchovies.”

“Do you like sausage?” Billy asked innocently, peering at him over the top of his menu.

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. “Sausage… is fine.” 

Billy stretched his arms above his head and looked around. ‘Dance Hall Days’ by Wang Chung was playing loudly from a jukebox in the corner, and he had to lean across the table to be heard without raising his voice.  

“This place seems pretty nice. Not a bad choice for our first date.”

Steve looked up sharply. “First what?”

Billy shrugged, pretending to read his menu. “What else would you call this?”

“Uh… two guys getting pizza?”

_Jesus, he’s so cute. I can't stop messing with him._

The table was small enough that their knees nearly touched beneath it; Billy reached down and felt for Steve’s hand. Their fingers brushed together as their eyes met across the table. 

“Just two guys getting pizza, huh?”

“Quit it,” Steve said nervously, glancing around. “Someone might see.”

“Relax, nobody’s paying attention to us.”

A waitress with a blonde perm walked over to take their order and Steve quickly pulled his hand away, clearing his throat.

“Welcome! Can I get you handsome gentlemen something to drink?” The waitress smiled and snapped her gum. “We’ve got house-made lemonade, and all the usual kinds of pop.”

“I’d like a Pepsi,” Steve said politely, his cheeks slightly rosy.

“Same for me,” Billy said as they passed her their menus. “And we’ll order a large pizza with pepperoni and sausage, please.”

“Sure, you got it.”

The waitress bustled off to get their drinks, and the boys sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the music and looking over hungrily at other customers' food.

“I think it’s funny the way people say ‘pop’ around here,” Billy said suddenly. 

Steve looked at him strangely. “What do you call it California?”

“Soda,” Billy answered simply. “Some things are different out here, I've noticed. Like, Best Foods is called Hellmann’s.”

_Why the hell am I talking about mayonnaise? Stop boring him, for fuck’s sake._

“Don’t look now,” Steve muttered, glancing towards the front of the small restaurant. Tommy and Carol had come in the front door and were standing at the counter, looking around for an empty table. “I think they saw us.”

“So? I don’t give a shit about them.” Billy glared across the room at Tommy; he was smiling cheerfully, despite his bruised, discolored face. “If that asshole has any brain cells left after the beating I gave him, he’ll take his bitch somewhere else to eat tonight.”

Carol’s eyes widened with alarm when she spotted Billy across the restaurant; she leaned up to whisper in Tommy’s ear. A few moments later, they turned and left. 

“Jesus, his face looks even worse than yours,” Steve remarked, watching their departing figures out the window. “You really did a number on him.”

“He gave me no choice, after pulling a stunt like that,” Billy said, rubbing his hand self-consciously over a tender bruise on his temple.

Steve looked down uncomfortably at his lap. “I don’t want to think about that stuff tonight. I’m just glad they cleared out and didn’t make a scene.”

“He didn’t want a second helping of these,” Billy said, holding up his clenched fists like a boxer.

“Please don’t get into any more trouble… he’s not worth it.”

“He seemed to be walking well enough,” Billy muttered darkly as the waitress returned with their drinks. “Guess I didn’t break any ribs, after all. What a shame.”

The pizza was brought out half an hour later, and they polished most of it off between them. Steve asked for the remaining two slices to be put in a box and suggested Billy take them home for Max. Then they spent a few minutes arguing over who would pay, before finally agreeing split the check.

It was approaching eight o’clock when they got back in Billy’s car and headed towards Loch Nora. Steve turned the radio back on, and they listened to ‘Forever Young’ by Alphaville; Billy resisted the urge to make a smart-ass comment about his companion's taste in music.

“Gets me every time,” Steve said with a sad shake of his head as the song ended.

“Really?” Billy asked incredulously. “It’s so cheesy, though, especially that lame synth-trumpet solo at the end.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be a great song to play at a funeral?” 

“Funeral?” Billy scoffed. “Great, so you’re cheesy _and_ morbid.”

When ‘Love My Way’ by The Psychedelic Furs came on next, Steve drummed his fingers on the glove compartment in time with the beat and sang along with the chorus.

_“Love my way, it’s a new road, I follow where my mind goes…”_

“You’ve got a nice voice, Stevie Wonder.”

“No, I don’t.” Steve smiled self-consciously. “But… thanks.”

_Why is he so fucking cute?_

Gripping the steering wheel with his left hand, Billy reached out boldly to rest his right hand on Steve’s knee. He was disappointed and a little surprised when Steve brushed his hand away. 

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Steve mumbled, biting his lip as he stared out the window. 

Billy glanced over at him curiously and froze when he saw a distinct bulge in Steve’s pants, just below his seat belt.

_Maybe it’s only my imagination, but it kind of looks like he’s… hard._

Steve cleared his throat uneasily as he pressed his legs together and folded his hands in his lap.

_Yeah, he definitely is. Look at him trying to hide it._

“Hey, Steve,” Billy began casually. “When’s the last time you took care of that?”

“Took care of what?” 

“You know what,” Billy replied, nodding in the direction of Steve’s lower half.

Steve was quiet for a minute before answering. “That’s, uh… pretty personal, don’t you think?”

Billy met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “It’s just us in here…”

Even in the dark of the car, Billy could tell Steve was blushing; his brown eyes looked almost black and they glinted with each passing Loch Nora street light.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve chuckled nervously, reaching up to sweep his unruly hair back from his forehead. “You say what’s on your mind, that’s for sure.”

“Around you, yeah.” 

A small smile played on Steve’s lips as he turned away quickly and looked out the window. “You should worry more about watching the road and less about what's going on in my pants.”

“So… you want me to just take you back home?”

_“You can never win or lose if you don’t run the race…”_

Steve leaned his head against the window and sighed. 

“Just… take me wherever you want,” he mumbled softly, closing his eyes. “And shut up.”

The houses on Steve’s street were generously spaced and separated by densely wooded areas; there weren’t many street lights, either, which made it easy for Billy to find a dark place to park just one house down from the Harrington residence. He turned off his headlights but left the engine running; ‘A Night Like This’ by The Cure began playing on the radio.

Steve bit his lower lip as he watched Billy reach over to slide his hand up his thigh and tensed when he rubbed the hard bulge in his chinos.

Billy slowly unbuttoned Steve’s pants without breaking eye contact; when he licked his lips he noticed Steve’s eyes following the movement of his tongue.

“This is crazy,” Steve mumbled under his breath, staring at Billy’s mouth. “Completely nuts. What the hell am I doing?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Billy murmured in a deep, reassuring voice as he unzipped Steve’s fly and slid his hand inside; he could feel the heat of Steve’s erection through his soft cotton underwear. “Just sit still and let me take care of you.”

_I can’t believe this isn’t a dream._

Steve inhaled sharply and trembled at his touch, looking at him with slightly parted lips. Billy’s seat creaked as he leaned over to meet his mouth with his own. Kissing in the cramped confines of the Camaro was tricky with Billy’s right arm pinned between them, reaching down into Steve’s pants. 

When Billy slipped his hand into his briefs and gripped his dick, Steve let out a little half-whimpered moan; he covered his mouth self-consciously and pinched his eyes closed.

Billy moved his hand slowly up and down, watching Steve intently and growing harder by the moment; he shifted uncomfortably and squeezed his legs together as intense longing pooled in his groin. 

_God, I want to fuck him so badly._

He rubbed his thumb insistently over the velvety groove on the tip of Steve’s cock, hoping to hear that erotic little moan again. The sound of his rapid breathing and the silky, dry heat of his skin were intoxicating.

“Billy, let go,” he panted breathlessly. “S-stop, I’m gonna—”

Billy bent down swiftly, taking him in his mouth just in time. 

“Oh, fuck…” Steve groaned quietly and shuddered as he came; he laced his fingers through Billy’s hair and drew deep, shaky breaths. 

Billy licked the last sticky drops off his dick and sat up slowly with a satisfied smile.

“Jesus Christ, you swallowed it?” Steve asked breathlessly.

“What choice did I have?” Billy swept his tongue across his lips and winked at him in the dark. “I don’t want jizz all over my seats, after all.”

“Doesn’t it taste bad?”

Billy leaned over and kissed him deeply, but after a moment Steve pulled away, making a face and rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

Billy laughed at his sour expression. “It’s, uh, an acquired taste.”

“It’s bitter,” Steve shook his head as he zipped up his fly.

_I can’t wait for you to try mine someday._

“Are you free tomorrow?” Billy asked casually, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror.

Steve raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “Just can’t get enough of me, huh?”

“Depeche Mode said it best.”

“Well, unfortunately for you I’m booked tomorrow.”

Billy smiled, concealing his disappointment. “Hot plans, huh?”

“Hardly,” he muttered as he opened the door and stepped out of the Camaro; an icy breeze blew through the car and ruffled his hair. “My mom wants me to go to church with her and then we’re going to visit my aunt.” 

“Okay, well… have fun with that.” 

Steve waved, then slammed the door and began walking towards his driveway.

Billy rolled down his window and stuck his head out. “Not so fast, buddy.”

“What is it now?”

Billy held up a plastic package of socks. “You wouldn’t want to forget these, right?”

“Oh yeah, thanks.” 

Steve stepped over to the driver's side of the car and reached out, but Billy yanked the package away at the last moment and grabbed his hand instead, smiling mischievously. 

“Where’s my goodnight kiss?”

“Oh, come on,” Steve jerked his hand away and rested it impatiently on his hip. His breath was white in the frigid night air. “Haven’t you had enough for one day?”

“Nope.”

“Seriously?” Steve shook his head incredulously. “Jeez, you’re insatiable.”

He glanced up and down the street to make sure the coast was clear, then bent down and pressed his lips against Billy’s, lingering for just a few moments before pulling away.

“There, happy?” Steve turned to walk away, but stopped in his tracks when Billy cleared his throat.

“Dammit!” Steve whirled around and stuck out his hand. “Just give me the stupid socks.”

“That’s some memory you’ve got there.” Billy cocked his head and held them out to him. “Am I that distracting, Stevie?”

“ _No_ ,” he snapped emphatically, snatching the package and stuffing it in his coat pocket. 

“Hey, can I call you tomorrow night?”

Steve paused. “Yeah, I… I guess so. I’ll be home by seven, probably.”

“Cool. Catch you later, then.”

Billy drove home with his music cranked up, speeding down the dark Hawkins streets with a heart that felt lighter than it had in months, if not years. He could still taste Steve on his tongue and feel him in his mouth; his still-hard cock throbbed at the memory. 

_I need to get home and take care of this before I explode._

While he was stopped at a red light, he rewound his Scorpions tape and pressed play when it got to ‘Rock You Like a Hurricane’— one of his favorite songs. The happiness inflating him like a balloon was so unfamiliar and overwhelming that he almost distrusted it.

 _I need to be smart and not let myself get in too deep. I’m just having a good time… I’m not gonna fall for him._ _Definitely not._


	11. California Dreaming on Old Cherry Road

**Sunday, January 20th, 1985**

The house was cold and quiet on Sunday morning; Billy found his step-sister Max curled up in her usual spot on the couch, reading ‘Ramona and Her Mother’ and sipping Capri Sun. 

“Morning,” he said quietly as he walked into the room.

Max glanced up from her book. “Hey.” 

“Where’s your mom?”

Max nodded towards the back of the house, then buried her nose in her novel again. 

Billy headed towards the kitchen. When he had returned from Steve’s the previous night, Susan was already in bed, and Neil was gone. He felt strangely calm as he walked through the still, peaceful house; it was almost as though all the negative energy and tension had departed along with his father. He wondered how Susan was handling it. 

_Hopefully she didn’t stay up all night crying over that shitbag. He’s not worth it._

Susan was in the kitchen, washing dishes at the sink; she was wearing her bathrobe and had tired circles under her eyes. 'Bang Bang' by Nancy Sinatra was playing softly from the radio on the counter. Billy guessed she probably hadn’t gotten any sleep. 

“How long have you been up?” He asked quietly as he pulled a canister of coffee from the cupboard.

“All night,” she answered without looking up from her scrubbing.

Billy tucked a paper filter into the coffee maker and poured in some water. 

 _"Bang, bang, I hit the ground, bang bang, that awful sound, bang bang… my baby shot me down."_  

He heard a sharp intake of breath and looked over at Susan; she was studying his face with concern and tears in her eyes. 

“Oh, honey… did Neil do that?”

Billy didn’t see the point in lying, so he simply nodded.

Susan took off her rubber dish gloves and held out her arms; he had never hugged his step-mother before, and it felt surprisingly comforting. Her light blue bathrobe was soft, and she smelled faintly of roses and Ivory dish soap.

“I’m fine, really,” he said, feeling a little awkward as he withdrew. He gestured towards the kitchen table. “C’mon, have a seat. The dishes can wait.”

Susan lowered herself gratefully into a chair with a heavy sigh. She was tall and slim, with a narrow, freckled face and long, red hair secured in a messy bun; she had clipped her bangs back with a couple of bobby pins.

He glanced aound, observing how immaculately clean everything looked. “Have you been tidying all night, or…?”

“I can’t seem to stop, ever since… not since I came home yesterday.”

Billy opened a bag of bread and popped two slices in the toaster, then sat down across from Susan. 

“Did he leave a note or anything?”

Susan nodded and sniffled, but didn’t elaborate.

_I wonder what it said._

“Dad and I never really... got along, but I—”

“It’s alright, dear,” Susan cut him off with a weary smile. “I know it’s for the best.” 

“Really?” Billy was a little surprised. He wasn’t sure how much Susan knew, or what Neil had told her in his note.

“I’ve spent the last couple of months trying to ignore all the signs that something was wrong. I told myself Neil was just having a difficult time adjusting to his new job, but… I’m not blind. I just didn’t want to admit to myself that the man I married wasn’t who I hoped he was.” Susan sighed and shook her head. “I shouldn’t be talking to you like this. I forget sometimes that you’re only seventeen; you’re so mature for your age.”

“Well, who else are you gonna talk to about it? We’re the only ones who really knew the guy.”

“ _Thought_ we knew him,” Susan said glumly, meeting Billy’s eyes. “I still haven’t forgotten that awful night, you know. When Maxine went off on her own and Neil overreacted and was so... rough with you. That was the first time I realized something wasn’t right. His anger scared me so much.”

Billy could remember that night in November well, even though he’d prefer to forget it; his father had called him a faggot and made him feel so furious and weak that he’d ended up beating up Steve at the Byers' house.

Susan reached across the table and rested her cold, soft hand on Billy’s. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more, honey. I… I didn’t want to make him angrier.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Billy mumbled. 

“No, I should have spoken up.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Billy shrugged. “And I shouldn’t have said that in front of you… about Max not being my sister, I mean.”

“It’s okay, Billy,” Susan said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “Really, it is. I’m sure none of this has been easy for you.”

Suddenly, the toast popped up and Billy stood up to butter the slices of bread. He reached over to turn up the volume on the radio when ‘California Dreamin’ began to play. 

“Here, you should eat something.” He slid a plate of toast over to his step-mother and leaned against the counter. 

“Oh, thank you, sweetheart,” Susan said, smiling at him appreciatively. “I like your new haircut, by the way. It's very handsome.”

“Oh, this?” Billy ran his hand instinctively through his curls. “Thanks.”

 _My dad chopped it off with a knife and my boyfriend fixed it, but that's a story for another time._  

“What happened in California?” Billy asked suddenly, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Sorry if that’s too personal; I know it’s not really any of my business…”

“Do you mean after we went to see my uncle?” 

“Yeah. I always wondered why Dad came back early, without you.”

_If he had to come back early, she should’ve come back with him. That way he wouldn’t have been able to do that to Steve…_

Susan shook her head. “It was so silly. He really... surprised me, that weekend. Well, maybe I wasn’t suprised, so much as disappointed.”

“Go on,” Billy prompted.

Susan took a deep breath. “Neil didn’t get along with some of the more… progressive members of my family. Many of them, myself included, were unhappy after the election in November.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s just say nobody on my side of the family voted for Reagan. So, there was a huge argument … it was ridiculous, really. He got all worked up and just wouldn’t let it go. It became very awkward." 

Billy frowned skeptically. “He came home early just because of that?”

“Well, among other things,” Susan sighed. 

The coffee maker gurgled noisily as it finished brewing, and Billy reached up into the cabinet for two mugs.

“Neil assumed I had voted for Reagan. It turns out he’s the sort of man who thinks his wife should vote the way her husband does, no questions asked. Overall, he was a lot more set in his ways and... old-fashioned than I realized when I married him. But he was handsome, and I was newly divorced, and... well, you can't always help who you fall in love with.”

_That's for sure._

“We went out to lunch at a nice restaurant when we were in California, and he had too much to drink. It was so embarrassing, the way he raised his voice and made people stare. He said some terrible things about women, and he made a… a disparaging remark about our waiter, because he had a foreign accent. It was unbelievable, some of the things he said that day. He'd become so erratic and... strange.” 

Susan took a small bite of her toast and thanked Billy when he passed her a mug of coffee.

“The final straw for Neil, I think, was when I told him I didn’t want any more children,” Susan went on. “He brought it up when we got back to our hotel room after that horrible lunch, and he… he didn’t take it well. He went on a terrible, offensive rant; I’d never seen him so angry. He packed his suitcase and took a taxi to the airport that same afternoon. I stayed behind, because I wanted to talk to my uncle more while he was still lucid.” 

Billy wasn’t sure what to say, so he reached out and patted her hand awkwardly. 

“Well, I’m really sorry it didn’t work out, Susan,” he said quietly, taking a long sip of his coffee. “I hated the guy and I'm glad he's gone, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you like this.”

“Thank you dear. I'll be fine, I think. We got married too soon, that’s all. I was lonely and thought I’d found love, but we hadn't gotten to know each other well enough.”

“Are you going to get a divorce? Is he going to pay alimony?”

“I don’t know,” Susan said wearily. “His note was vague, and short. He said he’d call to make arrangements once he was settled, whatever that means. Meanwhile, I’ll put my name down for more weekend shifts at the hospital; one of my fellow pediatric nurses just went on maternity leave, so I can help pick up the slack.”

Max came in the kitchen to throw away her empty Capri Sun pouch. She looked at her mother and step-brother strangely.

“Hello, darling,” Susan said with a sniffle, scooting her chair back and reaching out her arms. “Gimme a hug.”

Max complied, staring at Billy over her mother’s shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Max asked curiously. “And where did Neil go?”

“He left, honey,” Susan said as she took a bite of toast. “I’m so sorry.”

“He left?” Max repeated incredulously as she sat down next to her mother. “Where the heck did he go?”

“Far away, hopefully,” Billy muttered.

Susan sniffled and fiddled absentmindedly with the gold wedding band on her finger. “Not one, but _two_ failed marriages. Unbelievable."

"So it's just... the three of us now? You, me, and Billy?"

"Looks like it, sweetie. Now come over here so I can fix your hair.”

“Will we stay here?” Max asked curiously as she scooted closer to her mother. “Are we gonna go back to Cali?”

Billy looked up sharply; he hadn’t considered that possibility. 

“Would you like to, honey?" Susan's fingers moved deftly in her daughter's long red tresses, making two French braids.

“No,” Max said flatly, shaking her head. “I miss the beach and avocados and stuff, but… not as much as I’d miss all my new friends. I’ve already started over once; I wanna stay here.”

“How about you, Billy?” 

“No,” he answered quickly, thinking of Steve.

“Anyone you’d miss in particular, big brother?” Max raised an eyebrow at him and smirked knowingly. 

Billy kicked her foot under the table, pretending to be annoyed. In truth, he was pleased that she'd called him her brother.

“I’m so glad you two have made friends in Hawkins,” Susan said, regarding them affectionately. “And my job at the hospital is going well, so I see no reason to go back to California, if my kids are happy here.”

Billy’s heart constricted when he heard Susan say ‘my kids’ so casually; he reached into his jacket pocket instinctively to touch the small pendant his mother had given him. Somehow, he felt simultaneously touched by Susan’s acknowledgment and disloyal to his departed mother. His fingers brushed the thin chain his father had broken, and he made a mental note to get it repaired soon.

“Oh, speaking of friends,” Max said brightly. “It’s okay if El comes over today, right Mom? She’s gonna help me finish my algebra homework and then we’re gonna watch a movie.”

“Sure, honey. Is that the police chief’s new daughter?”

“Yeah, he said he’ll be dropping her off sometime around noon.” Her eyes lit up as though she’d had a brilliant idea. “Hey, can she spend the night?”

“It’s fine with me,” Susan said with a smile, finishing Max's two braids. “As long as you girls don’t stay up too late giggling. It’s a school night; you’ll need your rest.” 

“Yeah, Mom, I know,” Max said excitedly, getting up from the table. “I’ll go call her and tell her to bring a toothbrush.”

Susan smiled and returned her attention to Billy. “You don’t mind driving Maxine and her little friend to school in the morning, do you?”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he said. “I’m glad Max is finally getting to have a sleepover.”

He told Susan about the time Neil had made him pick up Max from Chief Hopper’s house, and how disappointed she had been.

“How strange,” Susan said with a shake of her head. “I had sleepovers at my girlfriends’ houses all the time when I was a kid.”

She stood up abruptly and walked over to where her large brown leather purse was sitting on the countertop; she pulled out a rolled-up magazine and glanced around, looking uncomfortable.

“Now, I probably shouldn’t show you this, but you’re practically an adult, and I suppose it’s nothing you aren’t already familiar with…”

Billy’s curiosity turned quickly to mild horror when she plopped the magazine down on the table. It was his tattered 1983 issue of Playboy, the one with Marianne Gravatte gracing the cover in transparent white lingerie. His mind raced as he tried to remember the last time he’d checked under his bed for it; he hadn’t needed to use the stolen photograph of Steve in over a week, since his real-life encounters provided him with all the jerk-off material he needed. 

“He took all his things with him, but he managed to leave _this_ sordid thing behind,” she said as she sat back down at the table. “I found it last night, when I was cleaning the closet.”

_That asshole must’ve snooped in my room._

Billy reached out and began flipping through the magazine, trying not to look too interested. “Uh, was there anything… else in here? Any photos or something like that?”

“I don’t think so,” Susan said blankly. “Nothing fell out when I found it… why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” Billy responded hastily as he closed the magazine and pushed it away.

_Where the hell is that picture of Steve?_

“I hope you don’t read trash like this, Billy. These poor women are so objectified; most of them probably come from broken homes.” 

“Don’t worry. Playboy isn’t really… my style,” Billy said distractedly, beginning to feel sickened by the thought that Neil might have kept the little yearbook photograph.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it, dear.” Susan picked up the magazine distastefully and frowned at the cover, then crumpled it up and tossed it easily into the trash can across the kitchen.

“Impressive,” Billy whistled appreciatively, pushing thoughts of the photo from his mind.

_It’s done. Just… don’t think about it. There’s no point._

“Did I ever tell you I was on the basketball team in high school? Believe it or not, I was pretty good.”

_He might not have kept it, anyway. You don’t know anything for sure._

Susan smiled sadly when the opening notes of ‘America’ by Simon & Garfunkel began playing on the kitchen radio.

_“Let us be lovers, we’ll marry our fortunes together…”_

“I used to listen to this with Maxine’s father when we were newlyweds. We had a tiny old house in North Hollywood, with an orange tree in the front yard; it wasn’t much, but it was ours. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

_“So we bought a pack of cigarettes… and walked off to look for America.”_

Susan sighed and looked wistfully out the kitchen window. “Sometimes I really miss smoking cigarettes. Days like today, in particular.”

Billy patted his pocket. “Would you like one?”

“Oh, no thank you, dear. I quit cold-turkey the day I found out I was pregnant with Maxine.”

“Quit what?” Max asked curiously as she came back in the kitchen.

“Nothing, sweetie. Is your friend coming over soon?”

“Yeah, and she said she was bringing waffles for us to eat before school tomorrow. She really likes waffles, I guess. Do we have maple syrup?” 

“I think so,” Susan yawned as she stood up, brushing a few toast crumbs from the table. “I’m going to take a nap; please don't make too much noise.”

“Hey, Max,” Billy said suddenly, remembering the skateboard he bought for her the previous day. “Come outside with me for a sec.”

“Why?” Max asked, sounding mystified.

“Just get your coat and come see.”

Max followed Billy curiously to his car, peering into the trunk as he popped it open. Her mouth dropped open when she saw the new skateboard.

“Oh my god,” she said softly as he handed it to her. “Are you serious? This is for me?”

“Yeah,” Billy mumbled self-consciously, running his hand through his hair. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry about your old one.”

Max looked down reverently her new skateboard, cradling it gingerly in her arms like a baby and smiling down at it.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Give it a spin.”

He stood on the curb and watched Max zoom down Old Cherry Road; she giggled as her long red braids flew behind her.

“This is awesome!” She yelled over her shoulder.

A tan Chevy Blazer pulled up across the street from the house and a petite girl with a mop of brown curls stepped out; she had a new-looking purple backpack slung over he shoulder and a box of frozen waffles clutched in her hands.

“Hi, El!” Max called from down the street, waving as she skated over to her friend’s side. “I just got a new board.”

“Bitchin’,” El said with a small smile, nodding appreciatively.

“I heard that, young lady,” Chief Hopper said sternly as he rolled down his window. “Is that Billy Hargrove over there? C’mon over here for a second; I'm not staying long.”

Billy loped obediently across the street and paused outside the truck.

“You staying out of trouble, kid?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, really?” Hopper raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Your face says otherwise.”

Billy stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and looked down at his boots. 

“You look better without that mullet, though.” The police chief chuckled, then grew serious again, regarding him strangely. “Is Mr. Hargrove around today?”

“No,” Billy answered flatly.

“Everything okay at home?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t procrastinate with those anger management classes, alright? Just get it done.”

Billy nodded solemnly. 

“Okay, well, I’ve gotta get back,” Chief Hopper said as he rolled up his window. “You kids behave yourselves, and don’t stay out in this cold too long.”

Max stopped skating as she watched Hopper’s truck driving away down Old Cherry Road. “Where’s he off to in such a hurry?”

“He’s going somewhere with Will’s mama tonight,” El answered with a small smile, shivering in her oversized sweater.

It was too cold outside, so they all headed indoors a few minutes later. Billy sat at the desk in his room and worked on his essay for English while the girls sat on the couch in the living room, doing their homework. 

When he emerged from his room after almost two hours of diligent writing, he found them playing Connect Four and watching MTV. The sounds of ‘Tenderness’ by General Public filled the room as they focused on their game.

“Hey, Billy,” Max said as she dropped a red plastic disc into one of the slots. “We’re about to watch a movie, if you’re not busy.”

"What makes you think I'd wanna sit around watching anything with you dorks?"

Max rolled her eyes. "Fine, forget I asked."

Billy leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “What's the movie?”

Max held up a VHS tape of ‘The Dark Crystal’. 

_Well, shit. It’s not like I really have anything better to do._

A few minutes later, he found himself sitting on one end of the couch next to Max. She and El finished their game of Connect Four while the previews played, and by the time the film started, Susan had brought out a large bowl of popcorn. About half an hour into the movie, the smell of freshly baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies wafted from the kitchen.

“Careful, they’re still hot,” Susan whispered as she came in the room to set a plate of cookies on the coffee table.

They all thanked Mrs. Hargrove and helped themselves. When El reached out for the last cookie, Billy swooped in and grabbed it first, popping it in his mouth with a triumphant smirk.

Max punched Billy’s arm lightly. “I wouldn’t get on her bad side, if I were you.”

“Really?” Billy scoffed, looking dubiously at the small, serious girl sitting on the other end of the couch. “Does she have a black belt in karate, or something?”

“You might be surprised,” Max replied loftily. 

“What is ‘karate’?” El asked curiously.

Billy stared at her blankly. “Are you a Martian?”

“What’s a Mar—”

Billy started to laugh, and El scowled at him.

“Mouthbreather,” she muttered.

“Martian,” he shot back.

“Let’s just watch the movie, okay?” Max interjected hastily, tucking her feet under her and staring at the TV.

“Fine,” Billy sighed, reaching out for the remote to turn the volume up. “But next time, rent something cooler, like ‘The Terminator’ or something. These puppets are creepy as hell.”

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with Ste—”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s enough,” Billy interrupted without taking his eyes off the TV. “Shut up so I can figure out what the hell these Sexy dinosaur-looking freaks are talking about.”

“It’s Skeksi,” Max snorted with laughter. "Not Sexy."

Billy jabbed her playfully with his elbow and glanced down at his watch; he still had a few hours to wait before he could call Steve.

_He’ll probably laugh his ass off when he hears about how I spent the day talking to my stepmom and watching a muppet movie with a couple of middle-school girls._

He leaned back and let himself sink back into the couch cushions, feeling contented and peaceful. His dad was finally out of his life, he was secretly dating the cutest boy at school, and he was full of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. 

 _Life isn't so bad, sometimes._  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Chapter 11, so naturally I had to include a guest appearance from Eleven. Next chapter will take place three weeks later, on Valentine's Day.


	12. Polaroid Valentine

The past three weeks had passed in a blur. 

When Billy and Steve saw each other at school after that eventful weekend, neither of them seemed to know how to behave normally. They tried ignoring each other for the first half of the day, but they couldn’t keep up the pretense and ended up eating lunch together in the cafeteria.

During gym class they stole glances at one another in the locker room and Billy desperately wished all the other boys would just disappear. He didn’t like forcing himself to stare straight ahead in the showers, not when Steve was naked in the steamy water just a few feet away.

Billy had already been unofficially crowned the king of Hawkins High, but after the fight with Tommy in the parking lot his reputation was sealed; more than ever, the girls smiled and whispered to one another as he passed and none of the boys dared give him any trouble. 

Every day after his last class he sat in detention and either studied or daydreamed (Max spent most afternoons hanging out with Lucas, El, and the other kids at Mike Wheeler's house). On Tuesdays and Saturdays, he went to the excruciatingly boring anger management classes Chief Hopper had ordered.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were his favorite days, because that’s when he drove to Steve’s house and sat at his kitchen table for an hour or two, proofreading all his English assignments and occasionally helping him with other subjects like Spanish and math. The tutoring itself wasn't very interesting, but there was something peaceful and therapeutic about simply being around Steve, even if they were only talking about prepositions and conjugations. 

Billy saved most of the money he earned from tutoring but liked to spend some of it on Steve, too. They had gone to see ‘Witness’ at the Hawkins movie theater, and they frequently went out for burgers or pizza. Steve eventually stopped trying to pay; Billy always swatted his money away and insisted on covering everything.

In his darker moments, Billy sometimes worried that all the hiding and pretending would wear Steve down until he finally called it quits. _This was a huge mistake_ , he might say. _Dating girls is easier. Being alone would be easier, too._

But a week passed, then another, and Steve didn’t show any signs of wanting to end it. Instead, he returned Billy’s kisses and let him touch him in the car, but only at night when it was pitch dark and nobody could see them. After three weeks, Billy was more than ready for their relationship to progress further, but there never seemed to be a good opportunity for them to be alone and he wasn’t sure how far Steve was willing to go. 

Valentine’s Day was quickly approaching, and Billy didn’t know what to do. Steve wasn’t a girl, so he probably wouldn’t want a big bouquet of roses or a heart-shaped box of candy. He definitely wouldn’t want lingerie, as much as Billy would enjoy seeing him in silk and lace. They couldn’t go out to a nice restaurant without having to endure countless stares and whispers. 

After giving the matter some thought, Billy decided he would ask Steve to come over to his house. He would attempt to cook a delicious dinner, they’d watch a horror movie and, with any luck, Steve might stay late enough that they could sneak off to Billy’s bedroom after Max and Susan had gone to bed.

It wasn’t the world’s most romantic plan, perhaps, but it was the only one he had.

 

**Thursday, February 14th, 1985**

After the dismissal bell rang at two o’clock, Billy walked down the hall to put his books away. Six envelopes tumbled out when he opened his locker: three red, two pink and one white. The red and pink ones had his name written in slightly different variations of loopy, feminine cursive, and he tossed them carelessly back in his locker without opening them; he always received cards from girls on Valentine’s Day, and he always threw them away. 

The plain white envelope, on the other hand, piqued his interest; it had his name written on it in a familiar boyish scrawl, and the ‘i’ wasn’t dotted with an asinine heart. He glanced around to make sure nobody was looking, then quickly tore it open. There wasn’t a card inside, just a Polaroid photograph of Steve. It was a nice picture: he was wearing a maroon Adidas sweatshirt and looked directly at the camera with serious brown eyes and slightly parted lips. He wasn't wearing his glasses and his head was tilted at a relaxed angle. ‘For B, from S’ was written across the bottom in black ink.

Billy tucked it carefully in the top pocket of his leather jacket and smiled to himself as he finished shoving his books in his locker. He remembered the previous week, when he was watching MTV with Steve and ‘Wishing (If I had a Photograph of You)’ by A Flock of Seagulls came on; after making fun of the singer’s hair, Billy had casually mentioned that he wished he had a photo of Steve.

_I didn’t expect him to remember, though._

Trying to look cool and not grin like an idiot, he continued down the busy hallway towards Steve’s locker. There were chubby cupids and red hearts stapled to the bulletin boards; a palpable, hormonal excitement hung thick in the air along with the smell of over-applied drugstore perfume. All the girls in the hallway seemed to giggle and bat their eyelashes at least ten times as much as they did on other days.

 _So annoying._  

When he spotted Steve through the throng of high-schoolers he briefly wondered what it might be like to surprise him from behind with a big hug and a kiss, the way other couples did. He thought about how nice it would be to pick Steve up for school every morning in his Camaro and make out with him in the parking lot.

But they weren’t like other couples, so they did most of their kissing in the dark, away from street lights and prying eyes.

“Hey, Harrington,” Billy said casually as he approached, looking around to make sure nobody was within earshot. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Steve slammed his locker shut and glanced over his shoulder at him. “Yeah… you, too.”

“Thanks for the photo.”

“No problem,” Steve mumbled, clearing his throat nervously. “There’s something else I wanted to give you, but it wouldn’t fit through the vents on your locker, so… here.”

He looked around quickly before reaching in his jacket pocket and pressing a small object in Billy’s palm. It was a shiny new Zippo lighter.

“Wow,” Billy said quietly, staring down at it. He was beginning to feel horribly guilty for not getting Steve anything. “Thanks, man.”

_Fuck, I’m an asshole._

It felt heavy, so he held it up to his ear and shook it gently; sure enough, Steve had already filled it with lighter fluid for him. Billy had been using flimsy matchbooks to light his cigarettes since the school principal had confiscated his scratched old Zippo; Steve never commented on it, but must've noticed Billy needed another one.  

_I really don’t deserve him._

Suddenly, a girl backed up against the lockers a few feet from them, giggling shrilly as a tall boy tickled her and pulled her into his arms for a kiss.

“C’mon,” Billy muttered to Steve, nodding towards the large double doors at the end of the hall. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You don’t have to go to detention anymore, right?” Steve asked as they walked; they always kept a minimum distance of one foot between them, to avoid raising suspicion.  

“Nope, I’m finally done with that shit.” Billy cleared his throat and lowered his voice, leaning a little closer to be heard. “So, do you want to… come over to my place tonight?”

Steve was quiet for a few moments; he tightened the thick blue scarf around his neck as they left the warmth of the crowded hallway and stepped out into the wintry afternoon air. “Will Max and your stepmom be there?”

“Probably, yeah,” Billy admitted, taking a black knit hat from his pocket and pulling it down to his ears. “Susan might be working, but even if she isn’t, I don’t think she’d really care. She'd probably be annoying about it like Max and say it's 'cute'."

"Max says _what_ is cute?"

"You and me."

"Oh, god." 

"Anyway, don't worry about Susan and Max... come over if you want.”

“We don’t _have_ to do something just because it’s Valentine’s Day.”  

“Yeah, I know,” Billy agreed hastily as they crossed the parking lot. “It’s a total crock of shit… just a day for companies that sell flowers and panties to rake it in, really. I just thought I’d ask, in case you wanted to… hang out.”

_God, I sound so lame._

Steve unlocked his BMW and tossed his books carelessly on the passenger seat. A chilly breeze gusted around them, and he stuffed his hands deep in his coat pockets.

“Well,” he began slowly, glancing around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. “I guess you could come to my place. We could just order pizza and watch TV or something…”

“Won’t your parents think that’s kind of weird?”

Steve bit the corner of his lip. “Um… they won’t be there, so no.”

Billy stared at him incredulously. “You didn’t think to mention that before?”

“Well, they won’t be gone all night,” Steve clarified quickly. “They’ll just be eating lobster and getting drunk at the country club for a few hours.”

Billy tried not to look at the maddeningly kissable twin moles on Steve’s left cheek; there were other students in the parking lot and he had to smother his impulses, as usual. He glanced around and leaned forward, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. “What time?”

Steve slid into the front seat of his car and looked up at him with wide, pretty brown eyes. He’d reluctantly started wearing his glasses more often, though he insisted it was only to see things more clearly and had nothing to do with Billy saying they made him look sexy and collegiate.

“They should be gone by five,” he said after a thoughtful pause.

“Want me to bring drinks?”

“Uh… we have a bunch of stuff at home, I’m sure there’s a bottle of something my mom wouldn’t miss.”

“Okay, then.” Billy stood up straighter as two girls walked by, smiling at him and whispering to each other. “See you later, Harrington.”

Billy drove Max home and spent over an hour getting ready: he jerked off to his new picture of Steve, took a long shower, perfected his hair, put on his favorite red button-down and his tightest jeans, dabbed on a little cologne, then pulled on his jacket and a warm black scarf. He had never worn scarves in Southern California, but Steve had left this one in his car the previous week and later insisted that he keep it. 

 _What you really need is a good coat_ , he had fussed. _Always going around with half your buttons undone and nothing to keep you warm but a thin jacket. It’s a miracle you don’t get sick more often._

 _But I’ve got you to keep me warm_ , Billy had said, laughing when he received a sharp smack on his arm. In truth, he liked the scarf more than he cared to admit; it was soft and still smelled faintly like Steve.

On his way to Loch Nora he stopped at a grocery store and bought two expensive filet mignon steaks, asparagus, a package of rolls, and butter. At the last minute, he decided to get a box of chocolates, too; he stared at it doubtfully as the cashier rang up his purchases, wondering if it was too much, or not enough.

_What the hell do you buy for a rich boy? Maybe I should’ve made him a mixtape or something._

Dark clouds gathered in the sky and it began to sprinkle while he was driving to Steve’s house; by the time he had parked his Camaro and jogged to the Harrington’s front door it was pouring. 

Steve must have seen him coming from a window, because he opened the door before Billy had a chance to knock.

“Come in,” he said simply, standing aside to let him pass. 

The house felt warm and inviting and Billy stepped inside gratefully, holding a paper bag of groceries and shedding droplets of water on the dark blue rug. 

“It’s, uh, really coming down out there, huh?” Steve said awkwardly as he closed the door behind them. He was wearing tight brown corduroys and a crimson Lacoste polo shirt with long sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

Billy nodded and swept back his damp hair with his free hand; he licked a stray raindrop from his lip, looking hungrily at Steve.

_God, he’s gorgeous. Is it too soon to carry him upstairs and tear off all his clothes?_

“If your boots are soaked, you can just take ‘em off so they can dry by the—”

Billy dropped the bag of groceries on the rug and shoved Steve impatiently against the door, holding his face between his palms and kissing him deeply. 

Steve tensed for a fraction of a moment, then exhaled shakily as his body relaxed. His breath was cool and minty, like he’d just brushed his teeth, and his kisses were careful and soft.

“I missed you, Stevie,” Billy murmured as he lowered his hands to the slight curve of his waist.

“Jeez, it’s only been a few hours.” Steve attempted to sound coolly indifferent, but his voice faltered when Billy pulled him closer. “Y-you see me almost every day.”

“Doesn’t count if we can’t do this.”

“Cut it out, that tickles,” Steve laughed, trying to wriggle free when Billy slipped his hand under the hem of his shirt. “At least take your jacket off; you’re getting me all wet.”

“Oh, yeah?” Billy cocked an eyebrow suggestively, trailing the tips of his fingers up Steve’s back; he could feel goosebumps spreading across the smooth, warm skin. “Sounds like you missed me, too.”

“God, you’re such a perv,” Steve muttered, turning pink as he half-heartedly shoved him away. “I should revoke your invitation and throw your ass back out in the rain.”

Remembering that the Harringtons would only be gone for a few hours, Billy withdrew reluctantly, raising his hands in mock surrender as he kicked off his boots and took off his jacket.

“Well,” he said briskly, tossing his jacket and scarf over the banister and picking up the bag of groceries. “Since we don’t have all night, I’d better get started. You like steak, right?”

Steve nodded slowly, looking a little confused. He reached up to straighten his glasses, which had been knocked askew while they were kissing.

“Let’s go, then.”

“Wait.. you bought food?” Steve asked with mild surprise as he followed Billy to the kitchen. “You’re seriously gonna cook?”

“Far out, right?” Billy plopped the bag on the counter. “Dad and I had to fend for ourselves for a few years before Susan came along, so I’ve learned how to make a few things. I thought it’d be better than waiting around for a boring old pizza.”

He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands, speaking loudly to be heard over the running tap. “Are you the type of useless guy who can’t even boil water?”

“I’m not useless,” Steve retorted defensively. “I’ll have you know I make a damn good grilled cheese sandwich.”

“Well, next time you’ll have to fix one for me… and maybe I’ll make some tomato soup.”

“I don’t really like tomato sou—”

“You’ll like mine,” Billy cut him off curtly as he dried his hands. “It’s nothing like that ketchup-tasting Campbell’s crap; it’s got fresh fucking basil in it.”

“Good luck finding fresh basil in Hawkins.” Steve leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him curiously. “Do you need any help?”

“Yeah, I don’t know where you keep shit around here,” Billy answered as he pulled the bundle of asparagus from the bag and rinsed it in the sink. “I need a cutting board and a knife, for starters.”

Steve seemed relieved to have something to do; he opened a cabinet and passed Billy a sharp knife and a plastic cutting board, then busied himself with finding everything else that was needed.

“So, this is all gonna be pretty basic,” Billy said apologetically as he chopped the tough ends from the asparagus spears. “I thought about making roasted potatoes, too, but it would take too long, and I didn’t want to get a ton of dishes dirty.”

“I don’t mind washing dishes.” Steve passed a pepper grinder and salt shaker to Billy. “It’s the least I can do, since you’re taking the trouble to do all this Julia Child shit.”

“No trouble.” Billy tossed a knob of butter in a large skillet and turned on the stove. He unwrapped the steaks and sprinkled them generously with salt and pepper, then set them in the pan, where they sizzled and hissed. 

“Why don’t you open that bag of rolls,” he suggested, glancing over his shoulder at Steve.

_Christ, he’s cute. I want to bend him over the table and make him moan for me._

After flipping the steaks over to sear the other sides, Bily added the vegetables and put a lid on the pan; he’d selected the slimmest stalks of asparagus so they’d cook quickly. After setting two French rolls in the oven to warm, he wiped his hands on his jeans and sat down at the kitchen table with a satisfied sigh.

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed suddenly, heading for the fridge. “I almost forgot.”

Billy watched curiously and smiled when Steve triumphantly held up a dark green bottle of champagne. He squinted, reading the label without getting up from his chair.

“Dom Pérignon,” he pronounced in his best attempt at a French accent, accepting the bottle when Steve passed it to him. “This is some top-shelf shit. You sure your parents won’t get pissed?”

“Nah, they’ve got, like, at least half a dozen of these stashed in the liquor cabinet,” Steve said dismissively as he reached up to pull two champagne flutes from a high shelf. "I didn't take any of the really old ones, this one is just an '82."

The way he was standing on his tiptoes and stretching his arms above his head made his red polo shirt ride up, revealing a brief glimpse of his mole-flecked back. Billy squeezed his thighs together and glanced down at his watch.

_I wish we had more time._

“Why don’t you turn on some music, or something,” Billy suggested as he peeled the foil off the top of the bottle, trying not to think about how badly he’d like to kiss Steve’s back.  

“It’ll probably be a bunch of cheesy love songs,” he answered as he turned to fiddle with the knobs of his mother’s kitchen radio. 

Sure enough, ‘I Want To Know What Love Is’ was playing on the first station he tried. On the next, it was ‘Your Love Is King’ by Sade.

“Fucking Valentine’s Day,” he muttered under his breath, glancing over his shoulder at Billy. 

He turned to a different station just as ‘Head Over Heels’ by Tears for Fears was finishing. ‘Space Age Love Song’ by A Flock of Seagulls began to play, and Steve turned up the volume.

“You like this song?” 

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged. “It’s pretty good, but ‘Wishing’ is probably my favorite of theirs.”

“That dude has some crazy hair,” Billy remarked, leaning back in his chair and uncorking the green bottle with a loud, celebratory pop.

“Yeah, I’d have to use half a can of the Farrah Fawcett spray to get mine to stand up like that,” Steve chuckled, holding out the champagne glasses. “Should I dress up like him next Halloween?”

“Black leather and goggles? Sounds good to me.”

“I wouldn’t want to dye my hair blonde though, that’s way too much effort.”

“What were you supposed to be last year, anyway?” Billy couldn’t remember much from that night at Tina’s Halloween party, after his record-breaking keg stand. “You were wearing a black blazer or something.”

“I was Joel from 'Risky Business', obviously.”

“Never saw it.” Billy filled the glasses and passed one to Steve. “I’m not much of a Tom Cruise fan.”

“Cheers.” Steve clinked his glass against Billy’s as he sat down across from him.

“I went as the Terminator,” Billy recalled, stretching his legs out under the table. “I couldn’t think of anything else, and I already had the jacket and gloves.”

“I remember that night pretty well, for some reason,” Steve said absently, taking a long sip of champagne. “I mean, it was the night I got dumped, so…”

_That bitch must’ve been out of her goddamn mind, to throw away a prize like him._

“I think it was the first time we met, too,” Steve continued, his brown eyes flicking up to meet Billy’s blue ones. “You came charging over to me with beer all over your chest, and a crazy look on your face.”

“Oh, right,” Billy said slowly as the events of that evening slowly came back to him. “I almost forgot how that dumbass Tommy was following me and chanting my name like a stupid groupie.” 

“Yeah, he kept yapping about how you were the new Hawkins keg king, as if I cared.” Steve looked at Billy curiously. “How long were you on it, anyway?”

“On what, the keg? Forty-two seconds, I think.”

“Holy shit,” Steve muttered, tipping his head back and draining his glass. “I doubt I could top that, even in my sixteen-year-old partying prime.”

“Keg stands are overrated, anyway… my head hurt like a bitch the next day, actually.”

“Looking back, it _was_ kinda weird.”

Billy looked over at Steve, slightly confused. “What was weird, the keg stand?”

“No, the way you came at me in Tina’s living room, pushing past everyone and climbing over furniture,” Steve elaborated, his cheeks slightly flushed. “And then you didn’t even talk to me, you just… glared.”

“I wasn’t glaring,” Billy mumbled into his glass, feeling a little self-conscious. “I was drunk… and curious about you.”

_I thought you were the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on and I couldn’t think of anything to say, alright?_

“I don’t know why I’m talking about all this ancient history.” Steve sounded a little embarrassed as he looked down at his empty champagne flute. “This stuff is pretty strong.”

“Have some more,” Billy encouraged, reaching over to refill his glass.

Steve sniffed the air appreciatively. “Something smells good.”

Billy stood up hurriedly and checked on the food. To his relief, the steaks looked perfect, and the asparagus was tender and bright green. Steve got up to set the table, and a few minutes later they were seated across from each other, drinking champagne and eating dinner while ‘I Melt With You’ by Modern English played on the radio. 

“A salad or something might have been cool.” Billy looked down critically at his plate. “I could’ve made one if there was more time…”

“Will you relax?” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes as he bit into a stalk of buttery asparagus. “This is amazing; we don’t need any stupid salad.” 

Time slipped by as they talked and ate; Steve kept refilling his glass, becoming increasingly tipsy. By the end of the meal, the bottle of Dom Pérignon was three-quarters empty.

“This was all really damn tasty,” Steve said appreciatively as he used his roll to mop up the last bit of buttery brown sauce from his plate.

“Glad you liked it.” Billy smiled modestly, watching Steve over the rim of his champagne glass.

Privately, of course, he was glad that it had all turned out so well; he’d messed up in the kitchen plenty of times, with things often ending up either overcooked or overseasoned. His mother had taught him a few things, and he still had her stained old copy of ‘Joy of Cooking’; he liked reading the neat little notes she’d written in the margins. After she was gone he had to continue on his own, learning through trial and error, and his errors were numerous. Once, Neil had even smacked him across the kitchen when he got distracted and burned that evening’s chicken cutlets to a tough, inedible crisp.

“Seriously, this was _really_ good,” Steve repeated, swallowing the last mouthful and licking his lips.

Billy tried not to stare at the way he sucked traces of butter from his fingertips; his chair scraped noisily as he stood up abruptly from the table to change the radio station.

“Goddamn commercials,” he muttered irritably as he twisted the knob, trying to find the oldies station that his stepmother favored. He’d discovered that he liked a lot of the old music from the sixties and early seventies.

“I’m, uh… gonna do the dishes.” Steve stood up from the table, swaying slightly and gripping the back of a chair to steady himself.

Billy found the radio station and looked over sharply at Steve. “Careful.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, dropping a fork and knife on his plate with a clatter. “I… I wanna help.”

“I’ve got it,” Billy said with a dismissive wave of his hand, returning to the table to collect the silverware and plates. “Sit your drunk ass down before you fall on it.”

Steve sat down obediently, but protested when Billy took his champagne glass away.

“I’m still using that.”

“No, you’re not,” Billy said firmly, carrying the dishes to the sink. “Unless you were planning to skip school tomorrow.”

“Oh, shit,” Steve groaned with dismay, slumping down in his chair. “I forgot… today’s not Friday.”

“Look, I don’t have a problem with you getting shitfaced,” Billy called over his shoulder as he turned on the hot water and soaped up the plates. “You’re actually cute as hell when you’re drunk.”

“I- I’m not cute as hell and I’m not drunk.”

“I just don’t want you to end up with a killer hangover in the morning, that’s all.”

‘I Believe’ by Stevie Wonder began to play on the radio, and Billy was suddenly grateful to be doing the dishes, with his back to Steve; he knew there was no way they’d be able to look at one another without blushing during a sentimental song like that.

“You sure you don’t need any help over there?” Steve called, playing idly with the Dom Pérignon cork.

“Nah, I’ll be done in a minute.”

“I kinda like this song… it sounds familiar. Is it Marvin Gaye?”

“Seriously?” Billy asked incredulously as he scrubbed the frying pan. “I thought everybody knew this song.”

_My mom used to listen to this album, years and years ago._

“Is it Al Green?”

“No.”

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Steve said huffily. “I don’t even care, I was just making conversation. Besides, when it’s over the DJ will say who—”

“I’ll give you a hint, okay?” Billy glanced over his shoulder as he rinsed off the pan. “What do I like to call you?”

Steve looked puzzled. “Harrington?”

“No, genius.” Billy rolled his eyes and sighed with exasperation. “ _Stevie_.”

“Oh, right…” Steve looked a little embarrassed. “Why do you call me that, anyway?”

“Because it suits you. Why, you don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that. But it sounds like a girl’s name… like Stevie Nicks.”

“Stevie Wonder isn’t a girl,” Billy pointed out. “And you’re prettier than Stevie Nicks.”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered as he picked up the champagne bottle and stumbled towards Billy. “Always… always saying I’m cute and pretty and stuff.”

Billy finished washing the last dish and turned off the water, wiping his hands on a towel as he turned to face him. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s true.” 

“Is not.” Steve leaned unsteadily against the counter, holding out the bottle. “Here, kill it. You might as well, before it goes flat.”

Billy tipped it back and drained it in one long, messy swig; there was more left in the bottom than he’d guessed, and a little dribbled down his jaw and onto his chest. He set the empty bottle down on the counter and wiped the droplets of champagne off with the back of his hand, noticing how Steve’s dark eyes followed the movement. 

_“I believe when I fall in love with you it will be forever… I believe when I fall in love this time it will be forever.”_

“If you thought I was bullshit, would you tell me?” Steve blurted suddenly.

Billy stared at him, bewildered. “Why the hell would I tell you something stupid like that?”

“Nevermind,” Steve mumbled, hastily turning to put away the dishes that Billy had washed. “Forget it.”

_Something that scrawny Wheeler chick said, probably._

“Hey,” Billy said quietly, reaching out to touch his arm.

Steve ignored him, pulling open a drawer to put the knives and forks away.

“Look at me.” Billy tilted his chin up, stroking his thumb gently along his jaw. “Stevie?”

“I said forget it,” he mumbled, glancing up reluctantly. “It's stupid. I shouldn’t’ve brought it up.”

“Look,” Billy said, clearing his throat self-consciously and feeling emboldened by all the expensive champagne in his belly. “You know I’m crazy about you, right? I’d never say you’re bullshit.”

“You wouldn’t say it _now_ , obviously… things are always fun and lovey-dovey in the beginning, but people change their minds eventually, y’know?” Steve swallowed and took a deep breath. “One day they’re… they’re kissing you and saying they love you and the next they’re saying you’re bullshit, and the day after that they’re with another guy—”

Billy interrupted him with a quick, impulsive kiss; he tasted salty and sweet, like butter and champagne. He held Steve’s face between his palms and looked directly into his warm, brown eyes.

“You’re not bullshit, okay?” He kissed the twin moles on his cheek. “And I’m not some fickle bitch who doesn’t know what she really wants.” 

Steve’s brow crinkled skeptically. “Once you get what you want, though—”

“Hey,” Billy said impatiently, holding him firmly. “You’re not the only one who’s afraid of getting screwed over, alright? I don’t wanna fall in love and get my heart stomped on, either, but sometimes… I dunno, sometimes you’ve gotta take a risk.”

_Christ, I sound corny._

“C’mere,” he sighed and pulled Steve into his arms, enveloping him in a tight, warm hug. "Nothing about you could ever be bullshit, okay?"

“I never thought I'd be… in a situation like this.” Steve’s breath hitched when Billy nestled his face against his neck. “You make it kind of hard to say no.”

Billy moved his hands down to Steve’s hips and leaned against him, pressing him into the counter; he smiled when he felt the familiar, tell-tale firmness in the front of Steve’s jeans.

“I make it kind of hard, huh?”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered, pushing his hands against Billy’s chest and trying to squirm away.

Billy caught his hands in his own and squeezed them tightly, trying to meet his eyes. 

“Can someone just be, like… g-gay for one person?” Steve asked quaveringly, looking down; a thick lock of dark brown hair fell across his face.

“Sure, why not?” Billy pulled one of his hands up and planted a kiss on it. “As long as I’m your person.” 

“Well, who the fuck else would it be?” Steve kept his eyes on the kitchen floor, his cheeks flushed with champagne and shyness. 

_Goddamnit, he’s so beautiful._

“Want a chocolate?” Billy asked suddenly, reaching past Steve to pull a slim, rectangular box from the grocery bag on the counter. “I picked some up at the store, in case you’re into that kind of corny shit.”

“You bought me chocolate?”

“Yeah,” Billy said defensively. “You want one or not?”

“That depends… are there any caramels?” Steve lifted the lid to look at the assortment. “I wouldn’t want to bite into a cherry cordial or something by mistake.”

“What the hell is a cherry cordial?” 

“Cordials are gross.” Steve scrutinized the contents of the box, taking a long time to make his selection. “They’re full of fruity goop.”

“You’re full of fruity goop,” Billy said impatiently, choosing an oval-shaped one and holding it up for him. “Here, say ‘ah’.”

Steve’s jaw tensed and his cheeks flushed; he eyed Billy warily for a few moments before reluctantly opening his mouth.

Trying not to get too aroused by the sight of Steve’s perfect, pink tongue, Billy reached out to feed him the chocolate; however, at the last second he reversed course and popped it in his own mouth with a mischievous smile.

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed, scowling indignantly.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Billy smirked as he chewed. “It’s not bad, either; there’s a cashew inside. Do you like nuts?”

Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Is that a serious question, or is it like the time you asked me if I like sausage?”

“I’m always serious,” Billy said innocently as he reached down to select another from the box. “Here, I’ll be good this time, say ‘ah’.”

“Not a chance.” Steve snatched the chocolate from Billy’s hand and crammed it in his mouth. 

“No fruity goop, I hope.” 

“Rum nougat,” Steve responded with his mouth full, looking disgusted. “What the hell kind of chocolate did you buy?”

“The shitty kind, apparently.” Billy plopped the box down irritably on the counter and folded his arms across his chest, feeling somewhat deflated. “I’ll try to do better next year.”

_Fuck. Why the hell did I say that?_

Steve swallowed and stared at him strangely. “Next year?”

They looked at each other awkwardly for a few moments; the only sounds in the room were the rain pattering on the kitchen window and ‘Fooled Around and Fell In Love’ playing softly on the radio.

“Just kidding,” Billy mumbled hastily, feeling his cheeks grow warm as he looked down at the chocolates, picking up a promising-looking morsel flecked with chopped pecans. “Wanna try another one?”

To his surprise, Steve opened his mouth wordlessly and let him set it on his tongue.

“Is it any good?” Billy asked, stiffening at the sight of Steve delicately licking chocolate from the corner of his lip.

“Caramel,” Steve replied thickly with a satisfied little smile. “My favorite.”

“Hey, let’s go upstairs,” Billy suggested suddenly, glancing up at the clock on the wall.

“What?” Steve looked over at him with mild alarm. “Why?”

“Because it’s time for tipsy boys to be in bed.” Billy smirked wickedly and scooped Steve up in his arms like a bride, carrying him kicking and wriggling towards the stairs.

“C’mon, I’m not even that drunk,” he complained loudly, tightening his arm around Billy’s neck and looking down anxiously as they ascended. “Put me down before we fall and break our necks.”

Billy made it to the second floor and hastened to Steve’s bedroom, kicking the door closed behind them and tossing him onto the bed. 

Steve bounced once on the springy mattress, then scooted back across the blue comforter until he bumped against the wooden headboard. His eyes widened expectantly as Billy crawled towards him and reached for his face.

Billy pulled his glasses off and set them carefully on the bedside table; he could see Steve more clearly as his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness in the room. He gripped Steve’s waist and tugged him down until he was lying beneath him; his repaired pendant hung from his neck, dangling just above Steve’s chin.

“Billy… what are you doing?” Steve's eyes glinted up at him in the dark, and he spoke so softly he was almost inaudible.

“What do you think?”

“We don’t have enough time to… to…”

“To what?” Billy prompted as he leaned down to silence him with a long kiss.

_He tastes sweet, like caramel._

Billy slid his hands up his waist, exploring Steve’s ribcage until he found the tiny points of his nipples; he traced them through the soft fabric of his shirt, making him tense and flinch.

“You like that, babe?” Billy asked in a low, husky voice as he pressed their hips together.

Steve’s answer was muffled by their feverish kisses, but he parted his thighs just enough for Billy to nestle snugly between them.

The subtle, permissive gesture drove Billy crazy with want. Grinding against him imploringly, he could feel the hard ridge of Steve’s erection straining at the front of his pants. He reached down between them and began to unbuckle Steve’s belt.

“We’d better do something about this before you cream your pants,” Billy said quietly as he unfastened Steve’s corduroys and moved down until he was crouched between his parted legs.

Billy licked his lips as he slid a hand inside Steve’s underwear, wishing it wasn’t so dark in the room so he could get a better view. Unsurprisingly, Steve had a beautiful dick: circumcised, straight, and perfectly smooth. It was a little longer than Billy’s, but not quite as thick.

“Oh my god,” Steve groaned as Billy put his mouth around it and began gently suckling the tip.

He could feel Steve’s hands in his hair, pushing him farther down the hard, smooth length of his cock. Billy tucked his lips over his teeth and controlled his gag reflex carefully as he moved his mouth lower; tears pricked at his eyes when he felt Steve’s dick sliding along the back of his throat, almost choking him.

Steve shuddered, breathing harder as Billy slid his mouth back up and swirled his tongue around the tip; he tightened his grip on Billy’s hair and let out a soft little moan, climaxing a minute later in a sudden, hot rush.

Billy swallowed every thick drop and licked his lips as he raised his head; Steve met his eyes and sat up slowly, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. They shared a sloppy, breathless kiss; Steve no longer seemed to mind the strange, male taste of himself in Billy’s mouth. 

A jolt of longing shot through Billy's body like electricity when he felt Steve’s hands fumbling hesitantly at the fly of his jeans. 

_Oh, fuck yes. Yes, please._

“Whoa,” Steve breathed shakily as he unzipped Billy’s pants and reached inside, tentatively pulling out his thick, rock-hard cock. He faltered, seemingly unsure how to proceed.

Billy’s heart hammered in his chest, watching him with wide-eyed wonder and a dick so stiff it was almost unbearable.

“Sorry, but I’m not sure what you want me to…” Steve whispered, trailing off uncertainly as he looked down between them at the cock sticking up like a mast.

“Just touch me, for fuck’s sake,” Billy answered hoarsely, trying to keep the neediness from his voice.  

Steve nodded and gingerly wrapped his fingers around Billy’s cock, squeezing gently. “Is… is this okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” Billy sighed under his breath, leaning back and propping himself up on his hands. “Keep going, don’t be shy.”

Steve met Billy’s eyes in the dark and tightened his grip, rubbing his thumb along the tip. He scooted closer and began moving his fist slowly up and down. 

“Fuck,” Billy groaned quietly. The novel sensation of Steve’s long, gentle fingers on his cock was so overwhelmingly intense he almost came immediately, but managed to hold on for a few more minutes.   

Steve held the base of his dick firmly with one hand, continuing to work the other up and down in a steady rhythm; Billy tilted his head back and pinched his eyes closed, breathing heavily. He saw stars implode in spectacular bursts when he finally came; it felt like the best orgasm he’d ever had in his life. 

When he raised his head and slowly opened his eyes, he saw Steve wiping something off his cheek with a tissue.  

“Oh, shit,” Billy chuckled breathlessly, reaching out to help. “I’m sorry, did it get on your face?”

“It’s okay,” Steve muttered, looking embarrassed as he tossed the sticky tissue on the bedside table. “First time for everything, I guess.”

_Blow jobs are neater; maybe next time he’ll let me come in his mouth._

Billy flopped down on the bed, feeling deliciously wiped out as he reached down to tuck his softening dick back in his underwear and button his jeans. He sighed contentedly and patted a spot on the comforter next to him, looking over at Steve.

“Come here,” he said quietly, trying to steady his heartbeat.

Steve zipped his pants back up and fumbled with his belt buckle in the darkness; after a moment he seemed to give up, yanking it off and tossing it off the bed. He flopped down next to Billy and looked over at him with a sleepy, satisfied smile.

“There’s a movie coming out tomorrow that I want to see.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s it called?” Billy reached over to draw Steve closer, curving his arm around him until he was nestled snugly against his chest.

“The Breakfast Club.”

Billy frowned skeptically. “So, it’s about people who like waffles and bacon so much they formed a club?”

Steve jabbed his elbow in Billy’s side. “Obviously not, smartass.”

“Because if it was, my sister’s weird friend should go see it. That kid really has a thing for waffles.”

“Yeah, she does,” Steve chuckled. “I think it’s rated R, though, so she’ll have to wait for us to rent it for her on video.”

“Well, do you want to go see it tomorrow?”

“There’ll probably be a ton of people there,” Steve said uncertainly, biting his lip as he fiddled absentmindedly with Billy’s watch. 

“So? Fuck ‘em.” 

“If we waited a few weeks we might be able to go when everybody’s already seen it, like that time we saw ‘Witness’ and had the whole theater to ourselves.”

“I seem to remember you freaking out about the projector guy upstairs judging us or something." 

“I wasn’t freaking out,” Steve said defensively. “You were the one trying to stick your hand down my pants… I didn’t want to give him a free show, that’s all. Or get banished from the theater.”

“If we go tomorrow when it’s packed, it won’t be weird for us to sit together, right?”

“True,” Steve agreed with a small nod. “But you have to promise to keep your hands to yourself, okay?”

“Where else would I keep them?” Billy asked innocently, giving Steve an affectionate squeeze.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Billy burrowed his nose in Steve’s thick, silky hair, inhaling deeply. “You smell nice.”

“Thanks,” Steve murmured drowsily. “It’s Fabergé Organics.”

Billy reached down and laced their fingers together. It felt strangely peaceful, lying so close to someone like this, listening to his breathing and the rain pattering on the roof above them. 

“You’d better go soon,” Steve said quietly. “I don’t know when my parents are gonna come back.”

“I know,” Billy sighed. “Just a couple more minutes.”

They lay on the bed next to each other in companionable silence, staring up at the ceiling. Billy traced his thumb along the back of Steve’s soft, warm hard.

“You know, I always used to hate this stupid holiday, but this year it was…” he trailed off, trying to think of a way to describe the day without sounding cheesy. “It was pretty decent, actually.”

When there was no answer, Billy lifted his head to look at the boy next to him. “Stevie?”

He was fast asleep. 

Billy sat up and stared down at him for a few moments. A long line of moonlight shone from between the curtains and cut across Steve’s bed. Billy pulled the blanket over to cover him, then stood up reluctantly and put his boots back on. 

_Too bad I can’t stay._

As he tiptoed to the door, he spotted a Polaroid camera and a ballpoint pen among the clutter on top of Steve’s dresser. He grabbed the items impulsively and took them with him to the bathroom down the hall.

_I hope this stupid thing has film in it._

He shut the bathroom door and turned on the light, then took off his red shirt. He turned the camera around and gripped it awkwardly in one hand, holding it up at what he hoped was the correct angle. 

_Well, it’s worth a try._

Billy hooked his right thumb over his belt buckle and flexed his muscles, then took the picture. He tugged out the square of plastic film and rested it on the corner of the sink, watching it develop as he put his shirt back on.

The picture turned out better than he expected: he was staring directly at the camera with hungry blue-green eyes framed by thick, black lashes. The bruises from three weeks earlier were long gone, and he was able to wear his favorite earring again; his golden-brown curls were extra jaunty from the rain and humidity. The lighting wasn’t terrible, and somehow made his biceps and abs look more well-defined than usual; the photo cut off just above the waistband of his jeans, suggesting that he might not be wearing any clothes.

_Wonder what the odds are of Steve looking at this the next time he jerks off…_

Billy hastily scrawled ‘For S, from B’ on the strip of white plastic below the picture. He walked quietly back to Steve’s room and set the camera and pen back on the dresser, then squinted around in the darkness for a good place to leave the photo.

_It’d be awkward as hell if his mom saw it._

The light from the hallway helped him spot Steve’s brown leather wallet on the desk; he tucked the picture face-down beneath it. He looked over at the still, sleeping figure on the bed and approached silently; Steve was lying on his back, his chest rising and falling with each soft, slow breath. Billy hesitated for a moment, staring down at him in the dark, then bent down swiftly to kiss his forehead. 

“Catch you later, babe."

He left the room quickly, shutting the door behind him and descending the stairs two at a time. He put his jacket and scarf on and glanced in the kitchen to make sure everything looked normal; the radio had been left on, so he switched it off. After locking the front door, he stepped outside and looked up at the cloudy night sky. Fortunately, the rain had slowed to a light sprinkle, but it was still freezing cold out; Billy shivered in his jacket as he jogged across the front yard to his car. 

Grateful for the relative warmth of his Camaro, he rolled his window down a few inches, lit a cigarette with his new lighter and turned on the heater. He took a longer route out of Loch Nora to lessen the likelihood of driving past the Harringtons on their way home from dinner; it also felt good to just drive aimlessly down the dark, quiet Hawkins streets, listening to the radio and taking long drags on his cigarette. The icy wind whipped through his wavy hair, warring with the hot air blasting from the heater.

“Jesus, I can’t escape this song,” Billy muttered when ‘Wishing (If I Had A Photograph of You)' by A Flock of Seagulls began to play.

It wasn’t really his style, but since it was a favorite of Steve’s he decided it wasn’t so bad and nudged up the volume. The song made him think of the photo Steve had given him that afternoon, now safely hidden in his jacket pocket. 

_“If I had a photograph of you, it’s something to remind me I wouldn’t spend my life just wishing…”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Fun Facts:
> 
> -The Breakfast Club really did come out on Friday, Feb. 15th, 1985
> 
> -The photo Steve gave Billy is inspired by an actual picture of Joe Keery that I love. Billy's topless bathroom selfie doesn't exist per se, but it's easy to imagine if you've ever found yourself ogling bare-chested photos of Dacre Montgomery (and who among us hasn't if we're being honest).


	13. Don't You Forget About Me

**Friday, February 15th, 1985**

The Valentine’s Day rain turned into snow overnight, blanketing Hawkins in a thin layer of white. It wasn’t enough for school to be canceled, though, and Billy was as relieved as all the other students when the dismissal bell finally rang after what felt like an excruciatingly slow day.

Steve hadn’t turned up for school that morning, so Billy assumed that he’d stayed in bed, nursing a Dom Pérignon-induced hangover. The events of the previous day had been on Billy’s mind all day; he squirmed a little whenever he remembered the feel of Steve’s warm, slender body beneath him.

Billy made his way to the row of pay phones just outside the front gate of Hawkins High and rummaged in his pocket for some spare change. He had called Steve often enough over the past few weeks that he’d memorized his phone number; he looked down and scuffed at an icy patch of snow with the toe of his boot, clearing his throat just before Mrs. Harrington answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi there, Mrs. Harrington. This is Billy Hargrove, and I was wondering how Steve was doing... should I come over for tutoring today?” 

“Well, it’s sweet of you to call and check on him, Billy. He said he had a bad headache this morning, but I think he’s feeling better. Hang on a second and I’ll fetch him for you.”

A minute later, Steve picked up the receiver. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself, pretty boy.” Billy glanced around to make sure none of the passing students were within earshot. “I missed you today. School is boring as hell when you don’t turn up." 

“Oh. Too much champagne, I guess.”

“Did your parents say anything?”

“Nah, the bottle was hidden in the bottom of the trash. My mom said it smelled really good in the kitchen when they came home, though.”

“Really? What’d you say?”

Steve chuckled, lowering his voice. “I said I went to that sandwich place on Main Street and took a Philly cheesesteak home for dinner.”

Billy looked over resentfully at a girl who had stepped up to the pay phone next to his. “So, are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. My head stopped hurting a couple hours ago.”

The girl twisted the phone cord around her finger and snapped her bubblegum, looking at Billy with a flirtatious little smile.

“Jesus, you’re a lightweight... hard to imagine you doing keg stands,” he muttered as turned his back on the girl and glanced at his watch. “Listen, I’ve gotta make this quick before we get cut off; I don’t have any change left. Are you still up for tutoring today?”

Steve sighed heavily. “I guess so… I’ve got that stupid Spanish test coming up next week.”

“Okay, then… te veo pronto, mi corazón.”

“Huh?”

Billy rolled his eyes and grinned. “See you soon, bonehead.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbled before hanging up on him.

…………………………………………………

Billy dropped Max off at home and freshened up a little before taking off for Loch Nora; he usually drove at least ten miles over the speed limit, but he wasn’t used to icy, slick roads and forced himself to slow down.

_This depressing weather's got me driving like an old lady... Indiana can kiss my frost-bitten ass._

Mrs. Harrington greeted him with a kind smile when he rang the doorbell. “Come on in, dear. He’s already studying, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Billy said as he followed her down the hall. “Steve has a big brain under all that hair.”

Mrs. Harrington laughed airily. “The positive effect you’ve had on him has been fantastic; he never used to work this hard on his schoolwork.”

“I can hear you guys, jeez!” Steve called irritably from the kitchen. “Stop talking about me.”

They spent the next two hours working on their homework together at the table. Steve had mastered most of the present-tense verb conjugations he’d need to know for the Spanish test, but he still mixed up the genders of certain nouns; he was hopeless when it came to past and future-tense verbs. 

Billy found it a little strange to be sitting in the Harrington’s spacious kitchen when only the previous evening he had been cooking dinner and drinking champagne with Steve. He looked over at the counter where he had kissed him and pressed against him longingly; his cheeks warmed at the sudden, vivid memories.

When her episode of ‘General Hospital’ was over, Mrs. Harrington returned to the kitchen and bustled around quietly, humming under her breath. A few minutes later, she set a plate of sliced apples and celery sticks stuffed with cream cheese on the table.

Steve rolled his eyes and looked embarrassed. “Mom, we’re not twelve.”

“Don’t be silly, Steven,” she scoffed with an exasperated smile. “You’re never too old for fresh fruit and veggies.”

“Yeah, _Steven_ ,” Billy chimed in, biting into an apple slice with a loud crunch and winking at him. “Listen to your mother, she’s only looking out for your health. Besides, it’s not like she gave us goldfish crackers… or Capri Sun.”

Steve scowled at Billy and kicked his leg under the table.

“I appreciate your support, dear,” Mrs. Harrington said warmly on her way out of the kitchen. “Don’t let me disturb your hard work, boys... let me know if you need anything.”

Billy glanced over at her retreating figure, then got up quickly and walked around the table to stand behind Steve; he massaged his shoulders and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Think she’d notice if we snuck upstairs for a little bit?”

Steve turned his head quickly, accidentally bumping their noses together.

“It’s too risky when she’s home,” he murmured, his eyes lingering nervously on the kitchen doorway in case his mother appeared again.

“What a shame.” Billy dragged his lips along Steve’s cheek and nuzzled his soft, voluminous hair; he could never get enough of the way he smelled. “I was hoping we could pick up where we left off last night...”

Steve swallowed and adjusted his glasses. “Pick up where we… what?”

“You fell asleep, remember?”

“Yeah, but not, like… in the middle of anything,” Steve mumbled under his breath. “We were just... lying there.”

“Speak for yourself. I wasn’t finished with you.” Billy dipped his face down next to Steve’s ear, lowering his voice almost to a growl. “I could’ve kept going all night long.”

Steve cleared his throat and tilted his face to look up at Billy. "I-I’ve actually got something in my room for you.”

“Really?”

Steve nodded as he stood up from the table and walked towards the stairs. 

“C’mon,” he called quietly over his shoulder.

Billy felt himself growing excited in more ways than one as he followed him upstairs, wondering what might be on his mind.

Steve turned on the light in his bedroom and went directly to his closet, emerging a moment later carrying a dark brown leather flight jacket lined with thick shearling.

“Try this on and see if it fits,” he said simply, holding it out for him.

“Wow, seriously?” Surprised, Billy slid his arms into the jacket sleeves and shrugged it up onto his shoulders; he was struck by how thick and heavy it was.

_This must weigh five pounds._

Steve watched him approvingly. “My mom was clearing out a closet and found some of my dad’s stuff from his Navy days in Vietnam.”

“Holy shit, this was your dad’s?” Billy exclaimed, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable. “Doesn’t he want it?”

“Yeah, right,” Steve snorted. “Even if he could manage to zip it up over his gut, he’s more of a blazer kind of guy.”

“But if it was his, shouldn’t you be wearing it?”

“It doesn’t fit me right,” Steve insisted, resting his hand on Billy’s arm and gently squeezing his bicep. “You fill it out better than I would.”

“But—”

“Just take it, alright?” Steve shook his head dismissively. “You need something warm and it looks good on you, so shut up and wear it.”

“Okay,” Billy answered uncertainly, running his hand down one of the soft wool-lined lapels.

“Besides, I’ve got his old peacoat. It’s cut a little slimmer than the bomber jacket and it’s really warm.”

“Are you gonna wear it tonight?”

“I could, yeah. Wait, I’ll get it.” Steve turned back to his closet and withdrew a heavy wool peacoat: double-breasted and a shade of blue so dark it was almost black. He unbuttoned it and pulled it on, looking just a little self-conscious under Billy’s admiring stare. Paired with his glasses and tight chinos, the coat made Steve look like a model student in a brochure for an Ivy League university. 

_He's too gorgeous for words._

Billy’s mouth suddenly felt dry; he licked his lips and eyed Steve up and down. “Wow, you look... great.”

"You think so?"

"I know so." Billy wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him into an affectionate little half-hug. He could smell leather, wool, cedar, and his expensive cologne.

“Thanks again for this,” he murmured into Steve’s silky brown hair. “You do too much for me.”

“It’s just an old jacket… hopefully it doesn’t smell like mothballs.” Steve leaned into his embrace, resting his forehead on his shoulder. “We’re still on for the movie tonight, right?”

“Yeah, if that’s what you want to do.” Billy brushed his lips along Steve’s ear, and then down to his jaw. He slipped his hand around his waist and pulled him closer, becoming increasingly aroused.

They both flinched when they heard a sudden knock on the door.

“Steven, honey? Are you boys in there?”

_Oh, Christ. Great timing, lady._

“What does she want now?” Steve grumbled under his breath as he crossed the room quickly and yanked open the door. His mother was standing in the hallway, smiling at him approvingly.

“Oh, good. I was just going to ask about those old coats I found.” Mrs. Harrington craned her head around the doorway and looked at Billy, who was still standing by the closet. “Is it a good fit, dear?”

“It is, yeah,” Billy said, glancing down at the chocolate-brown leather jacket. "Thanks a million, Mrs. Harrington."

_Doesn't she have any errands to run, or something?_

“I’m glad someone’s finally getting some use out of it,” she went on brightly. “You look very handsome. So do you, Steven.”

“Thanks,” the boys said in unison, looking down awkwardly at the carpet. 

“Well, I’m making pot roast and trying a new casserole recipe if you’d like to stay for supper, Billy.”

“Oh, um... that sounds tempting, but-”

“Can’t, Mom,” Steve interjected quickly. “We’re going with some friends to see a movie tonight. We’ll get something to eat before it starts.”

“Well, okay,” Mrs. Harrington answered, sounding slightly disappointed. “Drive safely and have a nice time.”

………………………

Feeling restless and smothered, the boys left shortly after their dinner invitation from Steve’s mother; Billy drove them to their favorite burger spot and they sat inside for almost two hours, talking and laughing long after their food was finished.

At half past six o’clock, they walked to the Hawkins movie theater; Steve didn’t protest when Billy paid for their tickets, despite the strange look the older woman behind the window had given them as she counted out Billy’s change.

“What the hell was her problem?” Billy muttered darkly as they pushed open the double doors. "Nosy old hag..."

The theater lobby was noisy and crowded, mainly with local teenagers. ‘Jump’ by Van Halen was playing over the sound system, and several kids were passing the time playing pinball and video games.

Steve paused and took a deep breath, inhaling the buttered popcorn-perfumed air. “God, I love that smell.”

“Want some?” Billy asked, gesturing towards the concession counter.

“Sure, if you—”

“Steve?” 

They both turned sharply at the feminine voice speaking behind them. It was Nancy Wheeler, with Jonathan Byers at her side.

_Oh, perfect._

“I thought it was you," Nancy said to Steve, smiling amiably. "You're here to see ‘The Breakfast Club’, right?”

_Hard to believe Steve used to tap that... she’s built like a nine-year-old._

“Obviously,” Billy muttered under his breath, making a conscious effort not to glare at the petite girl standing before them. He couldn’t help but find everything about her annoying, from her dainty, pointed features to her prim lavender coat and cream-colored slacks.

"Yeah," Steve chuckled nervously, nudging Billy with his elbow. “We thought we’d check it out, see if it’s any good.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great," Nancy gushed, her blue eyes widening with excitement. "I just loved 'Sixteen Candles', didn't you?”

Steve shrugged and looked down at the garishly-colored triangles on the carpet. "It was funny, I guess."

"Do you think the Long Duk Dong actor will be in this one?" Nancy asked. "He was _hilarious_."

"That dude wasn't even Chinese," Billy said flatly, crossing his arms across his chest. "His accent was fake; I read that he's really from Utah and he's like, thirty."

“God, I'm sorry,” Nancy said, sounding flustered and looking at Billy as though noticing him for the first time. “We haven’t officially met, have we? I’m Nancy.”

Billy nodded curtly and shook her outstretched hand.

“A-and this is Jonathan,” she went on, tugging the boy forward by his wrist. “His little brother Will is friends with your sister, I think. Have you guys met?”

“No.”

_I’ve been in his house, though. Long story._

Jonathan seemed nice enough, if a little shy and underwhelming. He was wearing drab, unflattering pants and a bottle-green sweater under his nondescript coat.

“So…” Nancy glanced from Billy to Steve, then back again. “Did you guys bring dates, or…?”

Billy met her inquisitive stare and cocked his eyebrow enough to make her look away quickly, flushed with embarrassment.

“Should I get some popcorn?” Jonathan suddenly asked Nancy, resting his hand on the small of her back.

“Yeah, that'd be great. And a Diet Coke, please.” Nancy was left standing awkwardly with Billy and Steve; she cleared her throat and looked like she was trying to think of something to say. “Those jackets are great; are they vintage?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied. “They were my dad’s from back in the day, when he was in the military.”

“That’s so cool.” She adjusted the purse hanging from her shoulder and glanced at Billy again, smiling genially. “It... it looks really warm.”

“It is,” Billy said succinctly before turning to Steve. “You wanted popcorn, right?”

“Uh, sure.”

Billy didn’t like leaving Steve alone with Nancy, but tried not to look too bothered as he lined up at the concessions counter right behind Jonathan.

Tommy was standing just a couple yards away at the condiments counter, squeezing mustard onto a hot dog; he kept glancing surreptitiously at Billy with a strange look on his face.

“What the hell are you staring at, asshole?” Billy called over to him, standing up straighter and balling his fists reflexively. 

“Nothing,” Tommy muttered hastily, picking up his hot dog and hastening over to where Carol was waiting. 

Billy noticed Jonathan watching quietly and turned to glower at him. “You gonna stare, too, Byers? Maybe I should start selling tickets.”

_I can't believe Nancy dumped Steve for this little dude._

Jonathan shook his head apologetically and looked away, mumbling something about not wanting any trouble; he was skinny and at least two inches shorter than Billy.

_Squinty eyes, big forehead, ugly clothes, even uglier car… he must have a really great personality or something._

Billy paused, feeling a small pang of guilt as he remembered that if it wasn’t for Jonathan Byers, Steve might still be tied up with Nancy. Things might not have turned out so well for Billy if Steve had been in a happy, long-term relationship when he rolled into Hawkins. 

_Really, I ought to thank this guy for doing whatever the hell it was that charmed the bobby socks off Nancy and sent her running into his scrawny arms._

He looked over at Nancy and Steve; it was too loud in the lobby to hear anything they were saying, even though they were standing only twenty feet away.

“Do you ever worry, Byers?”

Jonathan turned around, his brow crinkling with confusion. “What?”

Billy jerked his chin towards their respective dates. “It's impossible to imagine, but those two used to bang, y’know? They were pretty lovey-dovey once upon a time, from what I've heard.”

“So?” Jonathan looked over at Nancy and smiled when she met his gaze. “That’s ancient history. And it’s none of your business, anyway.”

It was hard for Billy to picture the junior-year Steve of legend: the cocky, popular jock who broke Jonathan’s camera on purpose, hung out with delinquents like Tommy, and held the local keg stand record. That was a different Steve, one he would never meet.

_I used to be a different person, too. Best to leave the past in the past._

Billy stepped up to the counter and placed his order; he watched as Jonathan carried a small bucket of popcorn over to Nancy and kissed her on the cheek.

_If I tried that with Steve in the middle of the lobby, these small-town squares would lose their goddamn minds._

A few moments later, Billy carried a large bucket of popcorn back to where Steve was standing with Nancy and Jonathan. There was a row of posters on the wall advertising upcoming films, and they talked about which ones they wanted to see. Nancy said she was looking forward to ‘Ladyhawke’, a medieval romance with Michelle Pfeiffer and Matthew Broderick. Jonathan scoffed and said he’d rather see the new ‘Friday the 13th’ sequel.

“Too scary,” Nancy protested, shaking her head and making a face. “You can see that one without me.”

“Oh, come on,” Jonathan teased, wrapping his arm around her waist. “How about 'Day of the Dead', then? It’s coming out this summer.”

“Ugh, no thanks.”

“How can you be afraid of fake serial killers and zombies after all the real shit we’ve seen?” Steve scoffed.

Nancy cleared her throat and elbowed him sharply in the ribs, glancing over at Billy with a strange expression in her eyes.

“What ‘real shit’, Harrington?” Billy asked casually.

“Nothing,” Steve mumbled, biting his lip as he glanced uneasily at Nancy and Jonathan.

_What the hell is going on with them?_

The double doors at the other end of the lobby opened and everyone began walking towards them, chattering excitedly.

“Come on,” Jonathan said hastily, grabbing Nancy’s hand and pulling her forward. “Let’s hurry and snag some good seats.”

Billy shook his head incredulously as the petite couple disappeared in the throng of people ahead of them. “I still can’t believe that skinny little dude beat you up.” 

“It was just one time,” Steve muttered, walking beside him. “And I deserved it.”

“How’d he pull it off? You’re way taller than him.”

“Not _that_ much taller, jeez... a couple inches, tops."

“He’s the same size as Nancy’s kid brother,” Billy pointed out.

“I got a few swings in, but he went postal, alright? He would’ve kept going if the cops hadn’t showed up.”

“Wish I was there; I would’ve knocked his teeth out for touching you.” Billy shoved roughly past a boy who had tried to cut in front of them. “Hey, watch it, shitface!” 

“I can take care of myself,” Steve grumbled, clutching the tub of popcorn against his chest and trying not to spill any.

“Like you took care of Jonathan and me, huh?”

“Maybe I have a face people just feel like punching.”

There was no accusal or anger in his voice, but Billy squirmed with guilt all the same and fell silent, wishing he hadn’t opened his big mouth; he'd only meant to tease him, but his words sounded more hostile than he'd intended.

_I’m going to feel shitty about hitting him for the rest of my life, aren’t I?_

He quickly searched for a change of topic. “So, what was that about back there?” 

“What?” Steve asked flatly.

“Earlier, when Jonathan and Nancy looked at you funny,” Billy said in a low voice as they gradually made their way through the cluster of people crowding the theater. “You said you’d seen some ‘real shit’ or something. What was that about?”

Steve looked uncomfortable. “Noth—”

“Don’t say ‘nothing’, man. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Steve glanced around; there were people everywhere in the large, dimly lit room, looking for available seats and calling out to their friends. 

“It’s a long story,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll tell you later.”

They found Nancy and Jonathan, who had claimed four good seats in the middle of the theater. Billy would've preferred not to sit with them, but realized that they blended in better if it looked like they'd gone as a group, rather than a couple. Nancy had the good sense not to sit next to Steve.  

When the lights dimmed after the previews, Billy tried to stare straight ahead at the screen, but his resolve often wavered; he couldn't help sneaking sideways glances at the attractive boy sitting beside him. 

_Goddamn it, why do I like him so much? This was supposed to be a just-for-fun kind of thing._

He liked the way his pretty, dark eyes reflected the silvery glow of the movie screen.

He liked the way his lips curled into a little smile when Bender said something funny.

He liked the way his buttery fingers brushed lightly against Billy’s when they reached for another handful of popcorn at the same time.

The only thing Billy didn’t like was that he’d fallen head over heels in love with Steve Harrington; there was no point in deluding himself about it anymore.

_How the hell did I let this happen? I’m so fucked._

_…………………………….._

When 'The Breakfast Club' was over, they politely said goodbye to Nancy and Jonathan and walked back to Billy's car, talking about the movie.  

“What did you think of Judd Nelson’s character?” Steve asked as he sat down in the passenger seat.

“Who?” Billy lit a cigarette and rolled his window down an inch; icy air blew in the car as he drove out of the parking lot and picked up speed, so he turned up the heater to its highest setting.

“Bender.” Steve shivered, rubbing his hands together in front of the vents. "The so-called criminal."

“Oh, him.” Billy had been too distracted during the movie to remember the names of all the characters. “He had some good lines, I guess… He looked way too old to be in high school, though.”

In truth, Billy related to the character more than he cared to admit. He had even felt a lump form in his throat during the part when Bender was reenacting the way his dad spoke to him at home.

_“Stupid, worthless, no-good, goddamn freeloading son of a bitch, retarded, big-mouth, know-it-all, asshole, jerk…”_

“You kind of remind me of him.”

“What the hell?” Billy scoffed incredulously, feeling mildly offended. He reached over to pass the cigarette to Steve. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Steve took a long drag, carefully blowing a stream of smoke out his partially opened window. He held up his hand and began counting on his fingers. “Anger management, three weeks of detention, a ‘fuck everybody’ attitude—” 

“Not _everybody_ ,” Billy interrupted, smirking playfully. “Just you.”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, there’s also the denim jacket, fingerless gloves…”

“He dresses like a hobo. If you ever catch me wearing rags like that, do me a favor and shoot me.”

Steve laughed as he leaned over to adjust the radio; ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ by Simple Minds had begun playing on the local rock station.

“I told Nancy,” he said suddenly, without looking up. “About us, I mean.”

“What?” Billy turned his head sharply, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“When you went to get popcorn with Jonathan, she asked me why we’ve been hanging out together so much,” Steve elaborated as he flipped down the visor to check his reflection in the small mirror. “I didn’t know what else to say, so… I just sort of blurted it out.”

“You told her we’re an item?”

"Well... yeah." Steve kept his voice casual, running his fingers through his hair before flipping the visor back up. "Aren't we?"

Billy was so taken aback he almost didn’t know what to say. Hearing that Steve had told someone they were together made it seem so much more… official.

_And he told his ex-girlfriend, of all people._

“Wish I could’ve seen her face when you told her,” he said dryly. “Bet she was surprised as shit.”

“I think she probably had her suspicions… I mean, you’re not very subtle, sometimes.” Steve looked out the window again and seemed to notice they weren’t headed towards Loch Nora. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“My place,” Billy answered quietly, glancing over at him. “Is that cool?”

When Steve didn’t look at him or reply, Billy began to worry that he may have crossed an invisible boundary. Snowflakes fluttered down from the sky, illuminated briefly in the beam of the Camaro's headlights before disappearing.

_“As you walk on by, will you call my name?”_

Billy cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks turn warm. “Look, if you don’t want to, I—”

“Okay,” Steve said softly, watching the snow fall outside his window.

“Okay?” Billy repeated, a little surprised.

_Is he serious?_

“As long as you’re sure we won’t bother anybody.”

“They’re both asleep by now, probably.” Suddenly feeling slightly nervous, Billy gripped the steering wheel with clammy palms as he turned onto Old Cherry Road and parked outside the house.

_Don’t get too excited; we won’t be able to go all the way with Max and Susan home._

“You’re sure they’re in bed already?” Steve whispered, looking at the dark windows as they walked to the front door together.

“Hopefully,” Billy said quietly as he opened the door. He unzipped his jacket, shrugged it off and tossed it in the general direction of the couch. The house was dark and silent inside; the only sound was the floorboards creaking as he led the way to his room.

Billy closed and locked the bedroom door carefully behind them and reached out for Steve in the darkness, pulling him closer. He unbuttoned Steve’s coat with cold, eager fingers and dropped it on the floor as they stumbled backwards to the bed.

“Did you lock the door?” Steve asked in a hushed voice, his breath warm on Billy’s face.

“Yeah.” 

The mattress creaked as Billy pressed Steve down onto the bed; he lowered his face to his neck, planting slow kisses in the warm curve just above his shoulder. His cock stiffened when Steve grabbed his face and dragged it closer to his own, pressing their lips together. As they kissed, Billy reached down to clumsily remove their shoes, wincing when one of his boots clunked on the floor.

Steve tensed at the sound and shushed him.

“Relax, will you?” Billy said with a soft chuckle, his breath tickling Steve’s ear. He laced their fingers together and pinned his hands firmly against the bed. “Susan’s on the other side of the house, and Max could sleep through an earthquake.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing. Just let me make you feel good, alright?” Billy shifted between his thighs, smiling when Steve tentatively hitched both legs around his waist.

Steve's hands cautiously explored Billy’s back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt. “I meant to thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“F-for the photo.” Steve’s voice faltered as Billy trailed his lips down to playfully bite one of his nipples through his shirt. “The one you left yesterday.”

“Any time,” Billy mumbled against his chest as he began slowly rubbing their groins together. He wished it wasn’t so late, so he could turn on some music; the hushed sounds in the room filled his ears and almost overwhelmed him. The creaking of the mattress. The rustling of the sheets. The clinking of belt buckles. The muffled sounds of heavy breathing and kissing.  

Billy broke away breathlessly and sat up just enough to quickly unbutton his shirt and pull it off his shoulders; he tugged his white thermal undershirt over his head and tossed it on the floor, enjoying the way Steve watched him. The look of admiration in his dark eyes as he stared up at his body made Billy glad he’d spent so many hours doing crunches, push-ups and lifting weights.  

He pulled up Steve’s shirt and bent his head to kiss his chest, grazing his lips across his nipples.

“It’s kind of cold in here,” Steve said with a shiver, goosebumps pricking across his skin.

“Sorry,” Billy mumbled as he paused to gather the covers closer around them. “I could go turn up the thermostat if you want…”

“No, it’s okay,” Steve whispered, tugging the thick blanket up to his chin. “Stay here.”

Billy ducked his head below the covers and went back to kissing Steve’s chest; he wished it wasn’t so dark, so he could see all his moles. He tugged off Steve’s pants and slid his hands up to his underwear.

“Billy?”

“Mm-hm?” Billy’s voice was muffled beneath the blanket.

“C-can you leave them on tonight?”

Billy’s hands stilled when he heard the worried edge in Steve’s voice; he was disappointed, but didn’t let it show.

“Okay,” he agreed softly, running his hand across the front of his briefs. “I won’t take ‘em off, but…”

He slipped his hand into Steve’s underwear and wrapped his fingers around his stiff dick. “Is this okay?”

Steve nodded, inhaling sharply when Billy took him in his mouth and began to suckle and lick. He bucked his hips instinctively, silently demanding more, and after only a minute or two he tensed and arched his back, moaning quietly as he came.

Billy wiped his lips with the back of his hand as he scooted up and popped his head out from beneath the covers. “That was quick.”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbled self-consciously. “It’s your fault for being so… good at it.”  

He looked at Billy with a tired, satisfied smile and reached up to tousle his wavy, rumpled hair. “What a mess.”

Billy pulled off his own jeans and underwear and kissed him long and slow, rubbing his crotch insistently against Steve’s thigh. The blanket slipped off his back and twisted around their legs.

“Should I, uh…?” Steve sounded a little intimidated as he glanced down between them. 

_He's so cute._

“I’ll take a rain check.” Billy suddenly leaned across him, stretching out to fumble briefly in the crate that served as a bedside table. He withdrew a bottle of lotion and squeezed some out in his palm, then rolled Steve onto his side.

_Don't freak out, babe. I'm not gonna hurt you._

“What’re you doing?” Steve asked with a hint of worry in his voice, propping himself up on his elbow and twisting his head around to look at the boy kneeling behind him. “Billy…? What’s that for?”

“Calm down… I just wanna try something.”

“Try what?” Steve’s voice rose a pitch, not sounding remotely calm. “Billy?”

“It’s okay,” he whispered as he smeared the cool lotion between Steve's thighs.

Steve flinched with surprise, the muscles in his legs tensing. “Wait, what are—”

“It’s okay,” Billy repeated as he laid down on his side behind Steve and pulled him close. “Just… squeeze your legs together for me.”

“Billy, this is kinda—”

“Do you trust me?”

“I, um… yeah?” Steve said uncertainly, his voice wavering slightly.

“Then don’t worry.” Billy pressed his dick into the slippery junction of Steve’s legs, just below his bottom. “This won’t hurt.”

Steve inhaled sharply, shuddering at the strange sensation. “Oh my god…”

“Nice and tight, that’s it,” Billy murmured against Steve’s back. He gripped his hips firmly and began slowly thrusting between Steve’s slick, hairy thighs.

_Oh, fuck._

It felt even better than he’d imagined. He reached around and gripped Steve’s cock, which was half-hard and sensitive; despite coming so recently, it stiffened again in Billy’s hand, almost as though it recognized his touch.

_Good boy._

Billy wasn’t quite as gentle as he usually was, squeezing Steve tightly and jerking him off rapidly in the hopes of hearing him pant and moan; he wanted it to sound like the real deal. He kissed the warm skin between his shoulder blades and smiled when Steve arched his back and moved in time with Billy’s hard thrusts.

_Holy shit, this feels amazing._

He discovered that if he angled himself just right, the tip of his dick nudged against the soft swell of Steve’s scrotum, covered only by thin, warm cotton.

“Oh my god,” Steve panted with surprise. “That’s…”

“Good?” Billy prompted, thrusting more insistently against him and concentrating on not losing control; a small, suppressed part of him desperately wanted to tear off Steve’s underwear, smear on some more lotion and have his way with him.  

_It's so close, just an inch away..._

“Y-yeah,” Steve answered breathlessly, clenching his thighs together. “…too good.”

When he let a particularly loud moan escape, Billy shushed him in a half-laughed whisper. “Shhh.” 

Billy kissed his back and rubbed between his legs more insistently, drawing more muffled moans from Steve. After a few more strokes, he came in a hot rush, squeezing Steve tightly and panting against his shoulder. Steve arrived at his own feverish climax shortly after, coming copiously in Billy’s hand.

They lay there on their backs, panting quietly and looking up at the dark ceiling. Billy wasn't sure what to do with the mess in his hand, so he simply licked it off.

Steve sat up, peeked under the covers and groaned. “God, my underwear is all sticky.” 

“You’re the one who didn’t want to take ‘em off, remember?”

“I’ve gotta wash up or something,” Steve muttered under his breath as he hastily tucked his dick back in his underwear. “I can’t go home like this.”

Billy, still completely naked, stood up with a tired groan and smirked at the way Steve averted his eyes. 

“So, you’re going home?” Billy tried to sound nonchalant as he made his way carefully across the dark room to his dresser; he opened the top drawer and tossed a clean pair of briefs at Steve.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, rising from the bed and tugging his shirt down self-consciously to cover his crotch. “I assumed I’d be going home, yeah. You’re cool with giving me a ride, right?”

“Sure, but you could also just… stay.” Billy could feel his cheeks growing warm as he pulled on some clean underwear, a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants.

“Stay?” Steve repeated uncertainly. “The whole night? With you?”

“Why not?”

Steve seemed momentarily lost for words. “My mom might freak out if I don’t go home and I’m not there in the morning.”

“Alright, forget I said anything,” Billy said hastily, clearing his throat and wishing he hadn’t asked. He opened his bedroom door and looked out into the dark hallway. “Coast is clear. You remember where the bathroom is, right? Down the hall to your left.” 

He flopped down onto his bed and closed his eyes, his mind somehow both cluttered with thoughts yet completely empty and unfocused. After a few minutes, he heard the distant click of the bathroom door opening down the hall, and the quiet creak of Steve’s footsteps. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched Steve let himself back in the room, looking adorable in his shirt, socks, and Billy’s underwear.

“Alright, you win,” Steve sighed, closing the door behind him. He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the door, his features inscrutable in the dark room. “Mind if I borrow some pants?”

Billy sat up and stared at him with surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged. “That’s what you want, right?”

Billy nodded, standing up quickly to find Steve some clean pajamas; he was determined not to show how elated he felt.

_Unbelievable... Steve fucking Harrington is gonna sleep in my bed tonight._

“Mind if I use your phone to call my mom?” 

Billy handed him a folded pair of flannel drawstring pants and an old black Ramones sweatshirt.  “It’s almost midnight… your folks really aren’t gonna mind getting called so late?”

Steve hastily pulled on the clothes and shook his head. “My dad sleeps like the dead, but Mom’s a night owl, so she might still be up. And if she isn’t, I’ll just leave a message. Let her know I’m not lying dead in a ditch somewhere, so she doesn’t wig out.”

After Steve quietly left the room to make his phone call, Billy hastened down the hall to use the bathroom and brush his teeth. He found an unopened toothbrush in the medicine cabinet and a clean towel in the linen closet. Back in his bedroom, Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“So, did you talk to your mom?” Billy asked as he tossed him the toothbrush.

“I told her I’m crashing on your couch tonight, and I’ll go home tomorow. She was fine with it, but…”

“But what?” 

Steve sighed and glanced up at him, his eyes bright in the darkness. “What happens in the morning when your stepmom and Max…?”

“They won’t care.”

Steve stood up to go to the bathroom. “Well, as long as you’re sure.”  

Billy slipped under the covers and pulled them up to his chin, unable to stop smiling; he felt like a sentimental idiot, but didn’t care. He had never slept with anyone before in his life, and tonight he was going to share his bed with none other than Steve Harrington.  

_How the hell did I get so lucky?_

Five minutes later, the mattress creaked and he felt the momentary chill of the covers being lifted, followed by the warmth of Steve’s body beside him. It was cozy, albeit a little crowded on the twin-size mattress. Billy pulled him closer and snuggled against him, pleased that Steve was wearing his clothes. He was also somewhat relieved that they were both apparently too exhausted to get hard again.

_I’ve always wanted to try spooning like this. I don’t want to pop another boner right now, I just want to… god, it sounds corny, but I just wanna hold him._

Steve closed his eyes and quietly hummed the chorus of ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’.

Billy smiled against the soft fabric of his borrowed sweatshirt. “It’s been stuck in my head, too.”

“It’s a great song,” Steve said when he finished humming. “I might buy the album next time we go to the record store.”

“You always smell so good,” Billy murmured in a deep voice, nuzzling the nape of his neck.

“You said that yesterday.”

“Well, it’s true.” Billy felt a little self-conscious, knowing that all he smelled like was cigarettes, inexpensive cologne, and Irish Spring soap. 

“I told you, it’s my shampoo. And Polo cologne, I guess.” Steve squirmed in his arms, smiling in the dark as Billy's lips drifted over the soft skin of his neck. “Cut it out, that tickles.”

“Oh, are you ticklish, Stevie?” Billy asked innocently as he stretched up to playfully nip his earlobe. “That’s good to know.” 

Under the blanket, his fingers reached under Steve's sweatshirt and brushed against his armpit, making him tense and reflexively clamp his arm down.

“Ow, you’re crushing me,” Billy protested, trying not to be too loud as he stubbornly continued to tickle him. 

“Serves you right,” Steve hissed, turning his face into the pillow to stifle his laughter and wriggling in Billy’s arms. “Now stop before someone hears—”

“Shhhh.” Billy loosened his grip but didn’t stop prodding the warm, hairy skin of his armpit. He didn’t resist when Steve turned around and tickled him back beneath the covers.  

Steve soon discovered that Billy was very sensitive, too; they spent the next minute or two poking and jabbing each other under the blanket, their laughter stifled by kisses.

_We’d better stop before I start getting turned on again._

Out of nowhere, Billy suddenly wondered if Steve had ever done anything like this with Nancy. He was bothered by how much he hated the thought of Steve horsing around under the covers with anyone besides him. Shaking the unbidden thought from his mind, he remembered something from earlier in the evening that Steve had said; he wasn’t sure he should bring it up, but curiosity overwhelmend him and he couldn’t help himself.

“Hey, um… what did you mean in the theater about all the ‘real shit’ you and Nancy have seen?”

Steve stopped trying to tickle his stomach and looked directly at Billy, their faces mere inches apart on the pillow. His large, dark eyes searched Billy’s, and he bit his lower lip hesitantly. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“C’mon, tell me.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“I dunno…” Steve reached up to idly play with a curl on Billy’s forehead. “I don’t want to give you nightmares.”

_What the fuck is he talking about? What nightmares?_

“I’m a big boy,” Billy muttered tensely. “I can handle it.”

He was growing impatient and increasingly annoyed; he didn’t like having to beg to be let into Steve’s inner circle. 

_Why the hell do boring old Nancy and Jonathan get to know things that I don’t?_

Steve was quiet for a few moments; his fingers drifted from Billy’s wavy hair down to his ear, lightly touching the earring he had forgotten to take off. “Well, I guess you probably would’ve found out sooner or later.”

“Found out _what,_ for the love of—”

“Especially if those… _things_ ever come back,” Steve added quietly, shuddering imperceptibly and shifting a little closer to him.

_Wait, what ‘things’…?_

“Okay, now you’ve _got_ to tell me,” Billy insisted, curiosity piqued. “What the hell is going on?”

“Alright, alright,” Steve sighed heavily; his breath smelled like spearmint. “I’ll tell you everything, but it’s gonna sound pretty crazy. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 


	14. All I Do

**Saturday, February 16th, 1985**

When Billy opened his eyes a few minutes past nine o’clock that cold, sunny morning, he thought he might still be dreaming. Steve’s sleeping face was less than six inches from his own, his eyes closed peacefully and lips slightly parted. A pair of songbirds chirped happily in a tree outside the window and a bright beam of sunshine slanted through the opening in the curtains, bathing Steve in an amber glow.

_I could get used to this._

Billy remained perfectly still and watched Steve sleep for a few minutes; he could hear each soft breath and count every mole on his face. He didn’t want to leave the warmth of Steve’s body beneath the comforter, but he really had to take a piss and do something about his morning hard-on. Billy carefully untangled his legs from Steve’s and slipped reluctantly out of the bed, tiptoeing across his room and grabbing some clean clothes as quietly as possible. He went to the bathroom and took a shower, jerking off to the memories of Steve's lithe, compliant body.

_It wasn’t the real deal, but it felt so damn good._

As he watched his come swirl down the shower drain, some of the strange things Steve had told him the previous night swam to the front of his mind. Billy tried to shove the unsettling thoughts away; from the parallel dimension beneath their feet to the terrifying creatures that inhabited the slimy tunnels, it was all just too bizarre to believe.

_Maybe he didn’t really tell me any of that crazy stuff… it’d be better if it was just a dream._

Billy didn’t want to think that Steve might have a screw loose, like one of those people who genuinely believed in astrology or Scientology. He didn’t think Steve was the type to play an elaborate prank on him, either. The only other possibility was that it wasn’t a dream and he was telling the truth.

_It’s impossible, though. Completely fucking nuts._

He finished showering and dressed quickly in the warm, steamy bathroom. After teasing his curls into place, he went back to his room and peeked inside; Steve was still in bed, snoring softly with the blankets pulled up to his chin. 

Billy went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, wondering what he could make for breakfast. Most mornings, Susan had to leave early for work and didn’t have time to cook, so he and Max usually contented themselves with orange juice and toast, or cold cereal with milk. Today wasn’t like most mornings, though.

_It’s not every day you wake up with a pretty boy sleeping next to you._

Humming ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ under his breath, Billy pulled a quart of milk and a carton of eggs from the fridge; he cursed under his breath when he couldn’t find any bacon, but cheered up a few seconds later when his rummaging yielded a package of breakfast sausages. 

In the breadbox on the counter, he found half a loaf of stale-ish white bread and took out four slices; it occurred to him that Max might wake up and want some, too, so he pulled out another two slices. He switched on the kitchen radio and looked up curiously when he heard quiet footsteps just outside the doorway.

Steve shuffled sleepily into the kitchen, still wearing the sweatshirt and flannel pants Billy had lent him the night before. His thick brown hair was comically disheveled, some of it sticking straight up in the air.

“G’morning,” he yawned, squinting in the bright sunlight shining from the kitchen window. 'All I Do' by Stevie Wonder played on the radio.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Billy replied as he cracked eggs into a mixing bowl and whisked in some milk. “Have a seat… want some coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.” Steve stretched his arms over his head and sat down at the table, glancing around blearily; he wasn’t wearing his glasses. “Is it just us here, or…?”

“Susan leaves really early most days,” he answered, passing Steve a mug of steaming hot coffee and a small carton of cream. “She’ll probably be back this afternoon. Oh, and the sugar bowl’s on the table.”

“Thanks. What about Max?”

"Still asleep, I guess." Billy shrugged and leaned down to casually kiss the top of Steve's head. 

_"Think of how exciting it would be, if you should discover you feel like me, if you should discover this dream is for two..."_

“Well, this feels familiar,” Steve remarked, his spoon clinking quietly against the mug as he stirred in cream and sugar. “As usual, I’m sitting here doing nothing while you’re in full-on gourmet chef mode.”

“Gourmet, my ass,” Billy scoffed, turning back to the counter to begin dunking slices of bread in the mixing bowl. “Just relax and drink your coffee.”

“Okay, but—”

“If you want to do something helpful, you know the drill.” Billy pointed his dripping whisk at the cabinet where the plates were kept. "Set the table."

Steve made two place settings, then sat down again to sip his coffee, watching in companionable silence as Billy melted some butter on a large skillet and fried the sausages and slices of bread. They both looked up sharply when a small, pajama-clad figure suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. 

“Morning,” Max yawned sleepily, rubbing her eyes; she was wearing somewhat dingy bunny slippers and her bright red hair was in a long, messy braid. She froze in her tracks when she noticed the additional teenage boy in the room. “Oh! Um… hi, Steve.”

“Hey, Max.” Steve smiled self-consciously from his seat and raised his hand in an awkward little wave.

Max’s brow furrowed with confusion as she continued to the fridge and poured herself a glass of orange juice. “When did you get here?”

“Jesus, here we go,” Steve mumbled under his breath, standing up quickly to set another plate and fork on the table for her.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he stayed over last night,” Billy answered casually as he flipped over the sausage links and slices of French toast, making sure they didn’t burn. 

Max leaned against the fridge, sipping her orange juice. “Like, on the couch…?”

“Absolutely,” Steve chimed in hastily as he sat back down; his cheeks were slightly pink. “On the couch, yeah. It was really comfy.”

"I'm sure it was," Max smirked and pointed at the black Ramones sweatshirt he was wearing. "Is Billy's hoodie really comfy, too?"

"I was cold," Steve said evasively, looking down into his coffee mug.

"You two are so obvious." Max rolled her eyes and set her glass of juice on the table. "I'm gonna get the paper."

She returned a few moments later with a copy of The Hawkins Post in her hand, scanning the front page as she sat down; her blue eyes flicked across the articles and small black-and-white photographs.

“Any disappearances or UFO sightings?” Billy asked casually as he set a heavy platter of food on the table. “Freaky government lab experiments gone wrong, maybe?”

“What do you mean?” Max put the paper down a little too quickly, clearing her throat. “Why, uh… why would there be?”

“It’s okay, Max.” Steve sighed wearily and met her eyes across the table. “Don’t ask me why, but I told him last night.”

“Seriously?” Max asked shrilly, looking appalled. “You _told_ him?”

“It was pretty spooky stuff, I've gotta admit,” Billy added as he sat down; he still remembered Steve’s unsettling, whispered descriptions of demons whose faces opened like flowers. “Gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

“I shouldn’t’ve told you,” Steve mumbled regretfully into his mug; there were faint shadows under his eyes, a reminder of how late they'd stayed up the previous night. "What the hell was I thinking?"

“Nancy and Jonathan seemed like they might be in on it, too.” Billy helped himself to two sausages and bit into one hungrily. “Impressive.”

“In on it…?” Max repeated slowly. “Oh, I get it… you don’t believe us.”

“I probably wouldn’t believe us either, to be honest,” Steve said with his mouth full, shrugging. “If somebody was just describing them to me and I’d never seen them with my own eyes…”

“You two should consider being actors, you do it so well,” Billy said blandly as he stirred cream into his coffee. “Did you happen to see Bigfoot with your own eyes, too, when you were skipping through the woods? The Abominable Snowman? Some werewolves or vampires, maybe?”

Max glared at him. “You think you know everything, huh, smart guy? Well, one of the monsters was in Will’s house the whole time you were there. If you hadn’t been so busy scaring everybody and acting like a homicidal maniac, maybe—”

“The whole time I was where?” Billy interrupted, blinking with confusion. “And who’s Will, again? I can’t be expected to remember the names of everyone in your little dweeb squad.”

“Will Byers,” Max elaborated impatiently, reaching out for the bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s. “Jonathan’s little brother.”

Billy frowned and swallowed a mouthful of French toast. “What do you mean, there was a… god, this sounds so stupid… a _monster_ in the house that night?”

“Don’t worry, it was dead,” Steve said reassuringly, spearing a sausage on the end of his fork. 

"Dead, huh?" Billy scoffed incredulously. "I thought these things were supposed to be scary and tough; how'd you guys kill one?"

"He didn't kill that one," Max clarified as she began to drizzle maple syrup on her French toast. "El did."

_Right... the little martian girl killed a monster that escaped from a secret government lab._

“Then I wrapped it up in a quilt and stuck it in the fridge," Steve concluded, shaking his head as though he knew how crazy it sounded. "That was Dustin's idea.”

It was completely absurd, but Billy didn’t laugh; instead, he felt an icy chill run down his spine as he suddenly remembered something Steve had mentioned at the party last month.

_“You didn’t look in the fridge, did you?”_

Billy didn’t want to admit it aloud, but a not-so-small part of him was beginning to entertain the possibility that Steve and Max weren’t kidding around. He didn’t want to consider it, though; it was too weird... too terrifying. He pushed it to the farthest corner of his mind and looked around for something else to think about. 

He noticed the extravagant amount of maple syrup his sister was putting on her French toast and frowned. “That’s enough, Max.”

“Nuh-uh,” she said stubbornly, continuing to squeeze the bottle with both hands.

Billy snatched the bottle from her, shaking his head. “Save some for the rest of us.”

“Anything funny in the funnies?” Steve asked, pointing to the newspaper. “What’s Garfield up to?”

“Sleeping, I assume, or eating lasagna.” Max picked up the paper and smiled as her eyes flicked across the page of black-and-white comic strips. “Peanuts is pretty good. Lucy is such a little smartass.”

"It takes one to know one," Billy said with a playful smirk, tucking his feet under his chair when Max tried to kick him beneath the table.

Steve glanced down at his watch. “You still have to go to those anger management classes on Saturdays, right, Billy?”

“Ugh, don't remind me.”

“How many more hours do you have to complete?”

“Too many,” he muttered glumly. “Pain in the ass, and a complete waste of my time.”

_Way better than juvie, though. Stupid fucking Tommy._

“Is it really that bad?” Steve asked curiously. “What do they… teach you?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“I’m sure it’s not _nothing_. What do they talk about?”

“Oh, you know… ‘Healthy conflict resolution’ and ‘alternatives to angry words and actions’ and that kind of bullshit.”

Steve looked at him pointedly over the rim of his mug as he took a long sip of coffee. “Doesn’t sound like bullshit to me… or a waste of time.”

“I think it’s working,” Max chimed in, her mouth full of bread and syrup. “He _has_ been less of a jerk lately, compared to how he used to be.”

“Unbelievable,” Billy grumbled as he stabbed a piece of French toast with his fork. “I made you this nice, hot breakfast and you’re _still_ being a little booger.”

“You made _him_ breakfast, not me,” Max corrected, pointing at Steve. “Don’t pretend you make stuff like this when it’s just me and Mom around. You’re just showing off for Ste—”

“Hey, less talking, more eating,” Billy cut her off hastily as he reached over to claim the last sausage link. “Finish your food before it gets cold.”

……………………………

Half an hour later, Billy drove Steve home and said goodbye; after that, he went to his anger management class, where he sat in the back of the room and ignored the instructor, opting instead to finish his statistics homework and daydream about Steve.

_I think about him too much… it’s all I do, sometimes. I bet he hardly ever thinks about me._

When the class was finally over, Billy grabbed a bite to eat at a sandwich shop and headed back home. When he stepped inside the front room, he was surprised to see Lucas Sinclair sitting on the couch with Max; they were eating Pringles and watching a nature show about South American insects. Billy smiled at the way they sat a chaste distance apart, with just the tips of their fingers touching. Max greeted him briefly before returning her attention to the TV; Billy got the distinct impression that Lucas was avoiding making eye contact with him.

_Damn, what’s it gonna take for this little dude to get over it? I said I was sorry, and I meant it._

Billy sighed and went to the kitchen; Susan must’ve just gotten home, since she was still wearing her nurse’s uniform. She was standing at the counter, chopping vegetables and humming along quietly to a song on the radio. 

“Hey, Susan,” Billy said amiably as he went to the sink to get himself a glass of water.

“Oh, hello, Billy. Back from your class?”

“Yeah.”

When he walked back through the front room a minute later, Lucas was sitting by himself on the couch. Billy paused in the doorway, feeling like he ought to say something.

“Where’s Max?”

“Bathroom,” Lucas said flatly without looking at him.

Billy glanced down at the scuffed toes of his black leather boots. “Are we cool, Sinclair?”

Lucas continued to stare at the TV; shiny, brightly-colored beetles scuttled along a tree branch in the jungle.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered after a long pause. “Are we?”

“ _I’m_ cool,” Billy scoffed, disconcerted by how uneasy he felt. “You’re the one who’s acting all stiff and weird.”

“I’m not stiff _or_ weird,” Lucas muttered with a scowl. “Look, as long as you’re nice to Max we’re… as cool as can be expected, I guess. Given the circumstances.”

Billy's memories from that fateful night in November were hazy and jumbled, but he could still recall, with embarrassment, the way he had behaved and how scared the kids were.

 _That must be why I'm standing around like a lame asshole trying to make things right with a damn middle-school kid._  

“I said I was sorry about that time at the Byers’ place, when I was too rough on you.”

Lucas looked up sharply at Billy, his dark eyes filled with dislike. “Oh, you’re sorry, huh?” 

“Look, I don’t—”

“Why don’t you just be straight with me, man?" Lucas rose quickly from the couch, looking as brave and imposing as his thin, five-foot-five frame allowed. "You don’t like seeing me with Max because I’m not white.”

“Th-that’s not… that’s not how it is,” Billy spluttered, feeling flustered and intensely uncomfortable. He couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound hollow or stupid.

Lucas shook his head impatiently. “You think she didn’t tell me? There are ‘certain types of people’ she should stay away from, huh?”

“That’s not what I meant, I—”

“You told me to stay away from her, remember?”

Billy looked down at his boots again, feeling frustrated and ashamed; he instinctively balled his hands into fists and stuffed them in his pockets. “I remember, yeah.”

“Remember what?” Max asked as she walked back in the room, reaching up to tighten her ponytail. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” Lucas and Billy said simultaneously, plastering on tight-lipped smiles.

Max narrowed her eyes suspiciously and rested her hands on her hips. “Did you say something mean, Billy?”

“What? No.”

“It’s cool, Max,” Lucas said as he turned off the TV with the remote. He rose from the couch and glanced down at his watch. “My mom’ll be here soon, anyway. Thanks for the Pringles.”

Feeling bothered and restless, Billy retreated to his room and spent the next few hours listening to music, thinking about Steve, and working on his English assignment.

.......................

Later that evening, he was lifting weights and watching MTV in the front room when the phone rang; a few moments later, Susan poked her head around the doorway to tell Billy it was for him.

“Hey, Harrington,” Billy said smoothly when he picked up the phone. “Miss the sound of my voice already, huh?”

“Yeah, right. Are you busy?”

“Not busy at all, no.” Billy flopped down in an armchair and began idly twisting the phone cord around his index finger. “Everything okay? You sound kind of weird.”

“I do? Oh… sorry.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no, not really,” Steve answered quickly, his voice slightly higher than usual. “Just, uh… I’ve been thinking.”

 _He definitely sounds weird._  

“About what?”

Steve seemed to hesitate before answering. “You and me.”

“That so?” An alarm went off in the back of Billy's mind and cold suspicion pooled slowly in his stomach. “What about us?”

“I, um…” Steve trailed off uneasily, then cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t really know the best way to say this, but I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

_He’s not... he's not dumping me, is he?_

“Last night I got a pretty clear idea of what… well, of what you might want from me… in the future, and…”

“And…?” Billy prompted, dreading his reply.

“I’m just not sure if I’m exactly... cut out for this kind of thing, Billy.”

_Goddamnit, I pushed him too far last night. I knew it._

“What kind of thing… wait, what are you saying?”

Steve didn’t respond immediately, and Billy could feel the cold dread rising in his throat like bile.

_He's gonna say he wants to be 'just friends' or some bullshit._

“For fuck’s sake, Steve,” he snapped impatiently, trying unsuccessfully to keep the disappointment from his voice. “Are you trying to say you wanna end it, or…?”

“What?” Steve sounded confused. “End it? No, I… I don’t want to end it. Jeez, is that what it sounded like?”

The cold dread subsided, and Billy's shoulders slumped with relief. “It sounded a little like that, yeah.”

“Oh,” Steve mumbled sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

_God, he scared the shit out of me._

Billy’s heart was still pounding in his chest, and his hand shook slightly as he ran his fingers through his wavy hair. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Steve was quiet for a few moments, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Is this a secure line?”

Billy scrunched up his forehead, puzzled. “What?”

_Secure line…? What is this, a scene in an espionage movie?_

“There’s absolutely no possibility that Max is listening in on another line, right?”

“It’s cute how you assume we have multiple lines,” Billy said dryly. “You can relax, rich boy, we’ve just got the one phone. I doubt Max would do something like that, anyway.”

“She’d be sorry if she did, that’s for sure…” Steve muttered.

Billy sighed, exasperated. “Will you just spit it out already, man?”

“It’s really embarrassing… promise you won’t laugh?”

“Uh, sure,” Billy agreed quickly, feeling increasingly bewildered. “I promise.”

“When I, um, took a shower earlier, after I got home…” Steve cleared his throat nervously and lowered his voice until it was barely audible. “I… I may have tried sticking a finger up... y'know... _there_.”

Billy dropped the phone on the floor. 

_Wait, what?_

He regained his senses and reached down hastily to pick it up, swallowing hard and trying desperately to think of something to say.

“… are you listening, Billy? Don’t leave me hanging, here.”

“Y-yeah, I’m definitely listening,” he finally answered after a few seconds of awkward silence. “I dropped the phone.”

Steve sighed quietly. “It felt… really weird.”

“Oh.” Billy cleared his throat and crossed his legs, trying to ignore the growing hardness in his pants. He was still struggling to make his brain work properly; his mind was filled with visions of Steve biting his lower lip and pinching his eyes closed as he fondled himself beneath the spray of hot water.

“… and not really weird in a good way, you know?” Steve continued, chuckling nervously. “Just, uh… just plain weird.”

_What the hell am I supposed to say to that?_

Billy lowered his voice and glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. “Um… maybe you could try it lying down, with some Vaseline or something. It won’t feel good without lube.”

“Uh…” Steve trailed off, laughing self-consciously. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

“It’s just me, Stevie."

"Yeah, I know."

"You know you can tell me anything, right?”

"Well... there is something else, actually.”

“What?”

“You know how you’re always saying you wish one of us had a place, so we wouldn’t always have to be so jumpy about someone interrupting us?”

As if on cue, Max strolled through the room. “Tell Steve I said hi.”

“What?” Billy flapped his hand at her irritably, covering the receiver with his hand. “No, get lost.”

“Who’s that?” Steve asked curiously. “Is that your sister?”

“Of course it is,” Billy muttered. “Who else would be so obnoxious?”

Max raised her middle finger as she walked past him on her way to the kitchen.

“You’d better not let your mom see that,” Billy cautioned, rolling his eyes at her. “Sorry, where were we?”

“Well… I just thought I'd mention that my family has a little cabin upstate, near Lake Tippecanoe.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I was thinking we could maybe… go there next weekend."

_Oh my god._

“Unless you don’t want to,” Steve went on uncertainly. “Which is totally fine, obviously, if you don’t—”

“I do, I definitely do,” Billy said quickly, trying to keep his voice cool and level; he was relieved that neither Steve nor Max could see him grinning like an idiot. “That sounds kinda great, actually. You sure it’s okay? With your folks, I mean?”

“We used to go all the time when I was a kid, but now it mostly just sits there, empty. My parents are always busy and my mom thinks it’s boring, so we don’t go anymore. I like it, though; there’s a little kitchen and a deck and the lake is right there…”

Billy could hardly pay attention to Steve’s enthusiastic description of the cabin.

_Is this for real? We’re going to shack up in the woods, just the two of us?_

“… and luckily, we’ve got this nice neighbor who said I could borrow his Jeep. It’s an ’81, it has four-wheel drive, a set of snow chains, and… are you listening, Billy?”

“Yup,” Billy answered reflexively, even though his mind was filled with images of Steve lying naked on a bear-skin rug in front of a glowing fire.

“Does that work for you? I thought we could leave on Saturday afternoon, so you won’t have to miss your anger management class.”

They made plans for a few more minutes, discussing departure times and bickering about which brand of cocoa was better; when Billy said goodbye and hung up the phone, he felt dazed and elated. He looked up when Max poked her head around the doorway.

“Mom says dinner’s ready. What did Steve want?”

Billy arched one of his eyebrows and smiled enigmatically. “None of your damn beeswax.”

Max rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I honestly don’t know what he sees in you.”

_Me neither, sis. But I'm glad he sees something._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter is named for the wonderful Stevie Wonder song. The first fifteen seconds of that track kill me every time. 
> 
> *Blows kisses and goes back to typing*


	15. Kings of the Wild Frontier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out rather long and detailed; I hope you enjoy it. :)

**Saturday, February 23rd, 1985**

“Are we there yet?” Billy asked in a bored monotone as he stared out the window at the endless pine trees whizzing by.

“Yep,” Steve confirmed cheerfully. “Twenty more miles, tops.”

“Well, thank fuck,” Billy muttered, shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat; they’d already been on the road for nearly three hours. “My ass is completely numb.”

The borrowed Jeep Cherokee had a tape player, so Steve had brought a shoebox full of cassettes along for the drive. They were currently listening to an electronic album by New Musik, a band Billy had never heard of before.

“God, I love that song,” Steve said, reaching out to rewind the tape as the last notes of ‘Hunting’ played. “Mind if I put it on again?”

“Go ahead.” Billy shrugged disinterestedly. “Play whatever you want, man. Driver picks the music.”

He glanced over at Steve, who looked fantastic, as usual: his thick, brown hair was coiffed to voluminous perfection, his eyes were hidden behind Ray-Ban sunglasses, and his long legs were encased in snug, black Levi’s. There was something unexpectedly sexy about watching him handle the Jeep’s stick shift with such ease; Billy made a mental note to let Steve drive his Camaro someday.

_My baby, driving my other baby... fuck, that's hot._

“The intro is so good,” Steve said as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t know why these guys don’t make music anymore; they had such a unique sound.”

“How old is this?”

“Not that old… it’s from ’82, I think.” Steve glanced over at Billy and smiled apologetically. “Next time, bring a few tapes of your own, so we can listen to music you actually like. Some, uh… Metallica or Scorpions or something.”

“We’re not even there yet and you’re already thinking about next time, huh?” Billy could never resist an opportunity to tease Steve and make him squirm. “And speaking of hunting… is there a moose head on the wall at this place? Maybe a bear-skin rug?”

“There might be some antlers, I guess.” Steve glanced in the rearview mirror and pushed his sunglasses higher on his aristocratic, angular nose. “My dad was always more into fishing than hunting. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason… I can think of a few things I’d like to do to you on a bear-skin rug, that's all.”

“Gross,” Steve scoffed, making a face. “Who’d wanna do… _that_ on a smelly old animal skin?”

"Me." Billy raised his hand as high as he could in the confines of the car. “Oh, c’mon, don't look at me like that. It’d be sexy and, like… primal.”

“Well, there’s no bear skin that I can remember, so you’re out of luck.” Steve pointed at the glove compartment. “Make yourself useful and get the map, will you?”

“Why, are we lost?” Billy found the map and spread it out on his lap, trying awkwardly to fold it into a more manageable size. “I thought you used to come up here all the time.”

“We did, but I wasn’t the one driving, obviously, so it’s not like I was paying attention to how we got there…”

Billy glanced up from the map just in time to notice a sudden movement in the trees up ahead; he leaned forward and squinted out the windshield to see what it was.

“… so, when we get the the lake I know there’s gonna be a choice between turning left or right, and I just don’t want to waste a bunch of time going in circles—”

“Steve, _stop_!” Billy yelled when a deer leapt onto the road just a few yards in front of them.

Steve slammed on the brakes, pumping them in a desperate effort to avoid spinning out of control. The Jeep skidded on the icy asphalt, turning ninety degrees before sliding to an abrupt halt on the wrong side of the road. Fortunately, theirs seemed to be one of the only cars on the lonely mountain highway that afternoon.

Both boys sat frozen in place for a few moments, breathing quickly and staring straight ahead. Billy could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and it took a full ten seconds for him to realize that Steve had grabbed his hand at some point.

“Did you see it get away?” Steve withdrew his hand to put the Jeep in reverse, looking in the rearview mirror with wide, alert eyes. “Do you think it’s okay?”

Billy stared at him with undisguised marvel. “We could’ve just _died_ and you’re worried about a stupid deer?”

Steve backed the car onto the right side side of the highway and resumed their course, gripping the steering wheel tightly and keeping his eyes glued to the road ahead.

“If Banzai Bambi _had_ croaked, we could’ve taken him back to the cabin with us and cooked him over the fire,” Billy suggested, licking his lips and grinning at Steve’s dubious, mildly revolted expression. “Fresh venison.”

“You’d have to skin it and, like… take the guts out, though.” Steve grimaced at the thought. “You can keep your roadkill, Davy Crockett. I’ll stick with grilled cheese.”

“Alright, suit yourself. Anyway, that was scary as shit.” Billy pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket on his black hooded sweatshirt, lit one with his Zippo, and passed it to Steve. “Here, this’ll calm your nerves.”

Steve accepted it gratefully, rolling his window down a couple of inches to let the smoke escape.

After Billy determined which turn they’d need to take, he folded the map back up neatly and put it away in the glove box. Having skipped lunch that afternoon, he felt his stomach rumbling and reached down to rummage in a paper bag on the floor. He had bought some mints and junk food when they’d stopped for gas; the plastic crinkled loudly as he unwrapped a pack of Hostess cupcakes and wolfed one down in three hungry bites.

When he noticed Steve glancing over at him as he bit into the second one, Billy swallowed the mouthful of chocolate cake and cleared his throat. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you want some?”

“I’m driving, and I’ve got this.” Steve waved the cigarette he was holding between his index and middle finger. “Save me a bite, we’ll be there in a minute.”

“Can’t,” Billy answered thickly through another mouthful of chocolate cake. “I’m gonna finish it before then.”

“Are you serious, asshole?” Steve admonished incredulously, looking scandalized. “There were two, and you’re eating both of them—”

“I asked you if you wanted anything at the gas station,” Billy interjected defensively. “I’m starving and stressed out after our fuckin’ brush with death, okay?”

Steve’s chin jutted out in a grumpy little pout. “You’re gonna get fat if you keep that up.”

Billy thought suddenly of the childhood photos he prayed Steve would never find: the ones in which he was double-chinned with love handles. His mother had been a wonderful cook and baker, and Billy had a voracious appetite; her maple-pecan cinnamon rolls were his all-time favorite, and he could still remember how good they smelled. Shedding the excess weight and putting on muscle at the beginning of high school had been one of the most difficult challenges of his life; the thought of the weight slowly creeping back was one of his most carefully guarded insecurities. Would Steve stick around if he no longer had bulging biceps and well-defined abs to offer?

He cleared his throat and tried to sound indifferent. “Would you, uh... still like me if I got chubby?”

Steve’s expression was equal parts annoyance and amusement. “Who says I like you?”

Billy smirked. “Well, you’re the one driving me all the way up to a lakeside cabin so we can have privacy when we fu—”

“Okay, okay,” Steve cut him off quickly, his cheeks turning pink and hollowing slightly when he took a long drag on his cigarette. “Guess I walked right into that one... Well, how chubby are we talking? Thirty extra pounds?”

Billy tried to think of someone they both knew that he could use as an example. “Say if I had a build like Chief Hopper… he looks pretty well-fed.”

“I can’t picture it.” Steve wrinkled his nose and snorted with laughter. “Besides, he’s gonna carry weight differently since he’s so much taller than you.”

 _Ouch._

“Not _that_ much taller,” Billy mumbled petulantly under his breath.

“He’s like, six-two,” Steve continued casually, flicking his spent cigarette butt out the window. “Maybe even six-three.”

Billy winced inwardly and wished he’d never bought the stupid cupcakes or mentioned Hopper. Growing a few more inches was one of his longest-held, vainest fantasies; despite being nearly eighteen, he still hadn’t entirely given up hope that he might have one last growth spurt.

“Well, sorry I’m not six-three,” he grumbled, looking down glumly at the white squiggle on what remained of the chocolate cupcake. “And sorry for being a greedy lardass, too.”

_What would a guy like Steve know about it? He’s probably looked dynamite since the day he was born._

“Y’know… for a smart guy, you say some pretty stupid things sometimes,” Steve muttered so flatly that Billy couldn’t quite tell if he was teasing or genuinely irritated. “Look, I don’t care if you get chubby or you’re only five-ten or whatever the hell else, so will you quit sulking and give me some damn cake?”

_Why am I like this? Stop being such a pissy little bitch._

"Sorry, man... long drive must be making me cranky." Billy reached over with the piece of chocolate cupcake. “Say ‘ah’.”

When Steve opened his mouth to receive the sizeable morsel on his tongue like a communion wafer, Billy let the tip of his index finger linger a moment longer than necessary on his bottom lip; Steve nipped it playfully, almost hard enough to hurt.

“Thanks,” he said with his mouth full, licking a stray bit of white cream filling from his lips in a way that made Billy shift uncomfortably in his seat.

_Don’t get hard now… plenty of time for that later._

Realizing that the New Musik tape was over, Billy reached over to rewind it, then bent down to get the shoebox full of cassettes he’d left on the floor between his feet. He rested it on his lap and idly flipped through them, pausing when he saw ‘Kings of the Wild Frontier’ by Adam and the Ants.

“How about this one?”

“Sure, I haven’t heard that in a while.” Steve checked the rearview mirror as he switched on his turn signal and passed a slow camper van. “Put it on side B… we’ll be there soon, so there won’t be time to listen to the whole tape.”

They passed a large sign that read “Welcome to beautiful Lake Tippecanoe!” as the opening bars of the titular track, ‘Kings of the Wild Frontier’ began to play, and Billy leaned forward eagerly to squint out the windshield. The treeline parted to reveal a massive expanse of frozen water; it didn't look anything like the lakes he’d grown up visiting on rare family summer vacations, in happier, half-forgotten times when his mom was still alive.

He turned in his seat to stare out the window, pressing his nose against the glass like an excited little kid. “What are those weird little sheds?”

“They’re for ice fishing.”

“ _Ice_ fishing?” Billy repeated slowly. “They look like fucking outhouses, Steve.”

“Well, they’re not.”

“You’re telling me there are actually people who sit in those things, voluntarily freezing their asses off… for _fun_?”

“Sure, what’s wrong with that?” Steve shrugged. “It's not my thing, but it's a relaxing, wholesome hobby, I guess. There are even big contests sometimes; some people get really into it.”

“Yeah, I bet they do.” Billy smirked and rolled his eyes. “Man, you midwesterners sure know how to have a good time.”

“There’s traditionally a lot of beer involved, I’ve been told.”

“I believe it,” Billy snorted derisively. “You’d _need_ to be tanked, to get through a day of doing something so mind-numbingly boring.”

Steve ignored him, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he watched the numbers on the passing properties. Some cabins looked small enough to have only one or two rooms, and others were enormous.

“Well, here we are,” he announced, slowing as they approached an A-frame cabin; it was a cozy, modest size, not much larger than Billy’s house back in Hawkins. After turning sharply onto a narrow gravel driveway, Steve switched off the ignition and unbuckled his seat belt.

Billy hopped out of the Jeep, shivering in the sudden cold as he retrieved his thick bomber jacket from the back seat and tightened the scarf around his neck; it seemed even chillier up here than in Hawkins. He glanced around, observing with relief that the cabin was surrounded by tall trees and that the nearest neighboring property was at least fifty yards down the road.

_Perfect._

“Have you seen my hat?” Steve asked from the driver’s side of the car.

“What hat?” Billy yawned as he stretched his arms over his head, gazing up at the pale grey sky that stretched beyond the tips of the pine trees. He took a deep, fortifying breath, filling his lungs with icy air that was spiced with pine needles and woodsmoke.

“The one I got last week,” Steve elaborated impatiently as he pulled his thick wool peacoat on over his dark green cable-knit sweater. “You know, the one with the ear flaps you said you liked.”

Billy glanced in the car and spotted the fur-trimmed bomber hat beneath his seat. He had been only half-serious when he picked it out for Steve at the sporting goods store, but it was warm and, of course, looked great on him.

_Everything looks good on him._

He walked around the car, snow-crusted gravel crunching beneath his boots, and found Steve bent over, rummaging in the back seat; after pausing momentarily to admire the way his tight black Levi’s hugged the curves of his ass, Billy reached over and popped the hat down onto his head.

“Oh, thanks.” Steve pulled it lower as he turned around to face him; the ends of his hair peeked out from beneath the ear flaps, which were lined with soft brown rabbit fur.

_Christ, he’s cute. Way too cute._

Billy impulsively grabbed Steve by the collar of his coat, pulling him closer for a kiss that tasted faintly of chocolate cake and cigarettes. When he drew away slowly, Steve looked at him with a slightly dazed expression.

“Let’s go inside,” Billy suggested brightly, reaching past him to grab their backpacks; his breath was white in the cold air. “It’s fuckin' freezing out here.”

“Okay, but I can carry my own stuff,” Steve protested, locking the car doors as Billy gallantly shouldered both of the heavy bags and even picked up the box stuffed with groceries they’d brought with them from Hawkins.

“Don’t worry about it,” Billy called confidently over his shoulder as he clomped up the wooden steps leading to the cabin door. “You brought the key, right?”

“Of course I did,” Steve said, climbing the stairs just behind him. “I’ve got it right he—”

“Whoa, fuck!” Billy yelled in alarm as he slipped on some dark ice coating the topmost step; he tried to regain his balance but the heavy bags weighed him down. After a split second of life-flashing-before-his-eyes panic, he felt strong hands behind him, lifting him upright again.

“Watch your step,” Steve cautioned, looking like he was trying not to laugh. He picked up the loaf of bread that had fallen out of the box of food. “You don’t need to show off for me.”

Billy stood aside sheepishly while Steve unlocked the front door. Inside, they scuffed their wet boots on the doormat and squinted as their eyes adjusted to the darkness within.

The cabin was cold and smelled like dust and cedar. Steve flipped a switch, illuminating the spacious main room; the yellow-hued light shone from an impressive chandelier that seemed to be constructed from interlocked antlers. There was a massive stone fireplace on one side of the room, with armchairs and couches arranged near it; most of the furniture was covered by white sheets, giving the room the eery ambiance of a haunted house.

“Where should I put our stuff?” Billy asked, adjusting the straps of one of the backpacks that was digging into his shoulder.

“Oh, um… the bedroom’s back there, just past the kitchen.”

Billy left the cardboard box of groceries in the large, old-fashioned kitchen, then followed Steve to the back of the cabin; their feet made no noise on the thick, dark green carpet that stretched from one wood-paneled wall to the next.

“Shag carpet, huh?”

“I know, it’s hideous,” Steve said apologetically as he turned a corner and opened a door. “This place hasn’t been renovated since the late sixties, probably.”

He went inside the bedroom and tugged the protective sheet off the king-sized bed, sending millions of dust motes flying in the slice of hazy sunlight shining from between the curtains.

“It’s retro as hell, but not in a bad way,” Billy remarked as he dropped their bags on the bed. “Y’know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered quietly as he stepped slowly around the room and stopped to stare at a framed Ansel Adams print. “I like it, too.”

Billy glanced over at him and noticed that his gaze had drifted to the bed; he could tell by the sudden, sexually charged tension in the room that, in that moment, they were thinking about the same thing.

_So this is where it’s finally gonna happen. Sometime today, in this room, on this bed..._

Steve cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. “Well, uh... it’s pretty damn cold in here. I’m gonna go turn on the furnace.”

Billy followed Steve back out to the main room. “Your folks just leave the electricity on all year, even though they’re never here?”

“No, there’s a caretaker,” Steve explained as he fiddled with the thermostat on the wall. “He’s a nice old guy who lives at the lake year-round. I called him the other day and said I’d be using the cabin this weekend, so everything should work, and he turned on the pilot light for the heater.”

“Did you say you were coming with your parents, or…?”

“He didn’t ask... it’s none of his business, really. His job is to go around checking people’s cabins while they’re away to make sure the roofs aren’t leaking and there aren’t raccoons living in the basement... or rats.”

“Ugh,” Billy grimaced. “I fucking hate rats.”

He walked across the room and paused in front of the large stone fireplace. There were a few framed photos displayed on the mantle; he stared at a picture of a skinny boy with freckled, sunburned shoulders standing in front of the lake. He was wearing orange swim trunks, grinning proudly and holding up a fish.

“I didn’t know you wore braces.”

“That’s from junior high,” Steve muttered as he approached him from behind; he sounded a little embarrassed. “Summer of ’79, I think. Now put it back.”

“So, you’re sure there’s _no_ possibility your folks are gonna come up here this weekend, right?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Steve said, shaking his head dismissively. “My mom’s having one of her old friends from college over for lunch tomorrow, so she’s staying put in Hawkins. And Dad's probably gonna be busy working all weekend, as usual.”

“Alright, just wanted to make sure nobody’s gonna walk in on us when we’re—”

“They won’t,” Steve cut him off hastily, shivering a little as he tightened his scarf. “Should we get a fire going? Might warm the place up quicker than that dumb old heater… I’m gonna make us something hot to drink.”

Billy began crumpling newspapers and tossing them in the fireplace while Steve went to the kitchen and put a kettle of water on the stove. When he bent down to pick up an armful of firewood from the neat stack on the hearth, a rat darted out and scampered across the toes of his biker boots.

“For the love of _fuck_!” Billy shouted, leaping back in surprise and dropping the quartered logs he was holding; they clattered loudly on the brick hearth, and one landed painfully on his foot. “Ow, shit!”

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Steve appeared quickly beside him with an oven mitt on his hand; his eyes followed the direction Billy pointed, and when he spotted the brown rat scurrying along the baseboard he sighed wearily. “Oh, gross. Alright, gimme a sec and I’ll take care of it…”

He picked up one of the pieces of firewood Billy had dropped and walked briskly across the room, his footsteps falling silently on the thick carpet. Just before the rat disappeared behind a large cherrywood bookcase, Steve brought the log down onto it with a sickening _thunk_.

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Billy said slowly, staring at him with newfound admiration. “I might have to start calling you King Steve again, if you’re gonna do badass shit like that.”

“Thought I’d heard the last of that stupid nickname,” Steve muttered as he used the oven mitt to pick the unfortunate creature up by its tail; he carried it to the door and flung it unceremoniously out into the yard, potholder and all. “Next time we come up here I’m bringing my bat.”

A few minutes later, after a few failed attempts, they managed to get a nice fire crackling in the fireplace. When the kettle began whistling shrilly, they went to the kitchen and mixed two mugs of cocoa.

Billy lifted his cup to blow on the surface, then took a quick, cautious sip; it was still too hot, but very tasty, and he smacked his lips appreciatively. “That’s good stuff.”

“You wanna see some _really_ good stuff?” Steve said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He crouched down to open a cabinet and pulled out a dusty bottle of Kahlua. “Figured my folks would have to have _some_ kind of booze lying around.”

“Nice,” Billy whistled with approval, setting his steaming mug down to add a generous splash of liqueur. He took a long sip, savoring the way the hot concoction warmed his throat.

Steve spiked his own cocoa and tasted it, then added another liberal splash of Kahlua and tasted it again.

_That’s the spirit, pretty boy._

Billy stepped behind Steve and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing lightly and inhaling the familiar fragrance of his shampoo and expensive cologne; he had to rise up a little on his toes in order to prop his chin on Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve turned his head so he could see him; a small smile lifted the corner of his lips. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Billy answered quietly, tightening his embrace. He rubbed against Steve’s ass and nuzzled the side of his neck; part of him was tempted to scoop the boy up in his arms, carry him to the back of the cabin and toss him on the bed.

“Billy…” Steve mumbled, chuckling nervously. “The, uh… cocoa’s gonna get cold…”

_Yeah, sure._

Billy stepped back reluctantly and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. He couldn’t resist briefly checking his reflection in the shiny toaster on the counter.

“C’mon, let’s go,” he said, pulling a small package bundled up in a bandana from his jacket pocket and waving it at Steve with a knowing wink. “I brought a surprise for you.”

Steve followed Billy curiously out the side door onto the covered porch, where they dusted off two chairs and sat down at a round patio table.

“What’s in there?” Steve asked curiously as he reached over and picked up the small bundle.

“More good stuff.”

“Wow,” Steve murmured as he unwrapped the bandana and held up a little plastic bag filled with weed. “Where’d you get this?”

“Well, last weekend after we talked about coming up here, I called my cool aunt Sylvia in California.”

“I didn’t know you had a cool aunt Sylvia…” Steve gingerly picked up a cerulean blue glass instrument and examined it curiously. “She sent you a pipe, too?”

“Pipes are for crack, or geezers who wanna smoke their tobacco like it’s the damn eighteen hundreds… in Cali we usually just call it a bowl,” Billy explained, reaching over to take it from Steve. “But no, she just sent the herb. I already had this; bought it on the boardwalk ages ago and brought it with me when we moved out here.”

Billy figured Steve had only ever smoked cigarettes, and perhaps the occasional stale, weak joint passed around at a Hawkins kegger; he doubted the sheltered boy from small-town Indiana had ever been good and properly stoned before, and he couldn’t wait to find out how frisky it made him.

“Is this cool aunt of yours a hippie or something?”

“Yeah, you could say that. She’s got a huge yard, and she grows all her own vegetables and, well… herbs.”

Steve opened the little plastic bag and sniffed the light-green crumbles hesitantly. “So she just mailed it to you?”

“Yeah, it was wrapped up pretty well, so nosy postal workers wouldn’t smell anything.”

Billy tapped some weed into the bowl and passed it to Steve so he could have the first hit; he tried not to laugh at the bewildered way he stared at the unfamiliar object.

“I’ve only smoked joints,” Steve said apologetically, confirming Billy's suspicions. “Do I put my finger over the little hole here, or…?”

“Yeah, like this.” Billy leaned over and rested his hand on Steve’s, guiding his cold fingers into the correct position and holding the lighter for him.

Steve inhaled deeply and coughed as he exhaled, glancing over at Billy and smiling self-consciously.

“I wish I had a cool aunt,” he grumbled enviously before taking another hit; this time, he coughed less. “None of my aunts are even _remotely_ cool. If any of them saw us now, they’d probably tell my parents to ship me off to military school.”

It was easy to imagine Steve's female relatives: pearl-clutching, hoity-toity snobs with cashmere cardigans and thin-lipped smiles.

“My old man used to threaten me with military school,” Billy recalled, taking the bowl from Steve and tapping in some more weed. “But it’s not cheap, and I guess he realized sending me to an all-boys school might not be the best way to get me to, uh… straighten up my act.”

Steve chuckled, then his smile faded and he took a long sip of his cocoa, looking seriously at Billy over the rim of his mug.

“Is he really… gone? Your dad, I mean. Is he gonna come back?”

Billy couldn’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes, instead gazing up at the wisps of smoke curling in the cold air. “He’d better not… I might kill him.”

“Really? Jeez, I hope not.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what he did.”

_I’ve gotta tell him._

“I know what he did, though.” Steve looked slightly confused. “He beat you up and cut your hair.”

Billy swallowed and cleared his throat uneasily, taking another hit to steady his nerves. “Among other things, yeah.”

_It feels dishonest, somehow, to just pretend it never happened._

Steve tilted his head and stared at him with dark, serious eyes. “Like what?”

_I really, really don’t want to, though._

Billy paused for a moment, stalling for time by taking another long puff; he tried to blow a smoke ring, but he was out of practice and it looked terrible. He had been working up the nerve to tell Steve for weeks, but kept putting it off despite knowing it would never feel like the right time.

“Well, for starters…” He rubbed the back of his neck, still unable to meet Steve’s eyes. “Neil’s got, uh… a bit of a drug habit.”

“ _What_?”

“Yeah… coke.”

“Jesus.” Steve shook his head incredulously. “I never would’ve guessed… but then, I didn’t know the guy like you did. I just met him that one time at your house, when I stayed for dinner.”

Billy remembered it well: the day Steve had come over to work on their English assignment. He had sat next to Steve and flirted all afternoon, but Neil had interrupted them and made everything awkward by being a jerk, the way he always did.

_That was the first time Neil saw Steve… I should never have brought him to the house, but how was I supposed to know something so crazy would happen?_

Billy swallowed and cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t about to do something he’d kick himself for later. “So, you remember my party… after you passed out and got the bruises?”

“Yeah…?” Steve’s brow furrowed with confusion, then relaxed as understanding gradually dawned in his eyes. “Oh… I get it.”

Billy twisted one of his rings on and off his finger, waiting anxiously as Steve took a long, pensive drag on the bowl.

“Okay,” he said finally with a small shrug, smothering a cough with the back of his hand.

Billy couldn’t believe he was taking the unsavory revelation so calmly. “Okay…?”

“Yeah.” Steve shrugged again and lit the weed, tipping his head back to blow smoke up at the pine patio roof above them. “I mean, what else is there to say? Thanks for telling me, I guess. That couldn't've been easy.”

Billy looked down at his hands and clenched his fists. “I really wanted to kill him… I almost did.”

“Well, you’re no good to me in jail, so I’m glad you didn’t.” Steve passed the weed back to him. “Here, you look like you could use some more of this.”

“It’s so unbelievably fucked up…” Billy paused to take a long puff, coughing as he exhaled. “I’m embarrassed to be related to such a perverted head case, and I’m just… god, I’m so sorry.”

Steve shook his head slowly. “You don’t have to apologize for him, alright? It's fucked up, sure, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Billy wasn’t sure if the pot was playing with his emotions, but he felt hot tears pricking in the back of his eyes. Unwelcome scenes from the day he had confronted his father flashed through his mind; his hand began to shake slightly, and he quickly set the bowl down on the table.

“I figured… you might not want anything to do with me if I told you,” he said as he rubbed his eyes and looked away, willing himself not to further humiliate himself by sniffling. “I didn’t want you to be reminded of that shitty night every time you saw me.”

“You’re not your dad,” Steve said simply.

_"Respect and responsibility"... what a fucking joke._

A moment later, Steve surprised him by leaning across the table for a quick kiss, bumping their cold noses together. He pulled away shyly and picked up the bowl, which Billy wordlessly refilled and lit for him; their eyes met through the pale smoke swirling up and dissolving in the air above them.

“Okay…” Billy acquiesced reluctantly. “But I still wanna kill that stupid old closet case.”

Steve smiled wryly. “Would  _we_ be considered closet cases?”

“No way,” Billy scoffed, mildly offended. “We’re not spineless hypocrites, living a double life and lying to everyone. Me and you being… _discreet_ isn’t the same as being in the closet.”

“Discreet, huh?” Steve raised his eyebrows skeptically and laughed; he took a long sip of his cocoa and licked his upper lip. “Like when you _discreetly_ take me out to dinner and a movie, or when you’re _discreetly_ staring at my ass in the gym showers?”

_I can’t be expected to ignore such a great-looking ass; that's just unrealistic._

“It’s total bullshit that we have to be discreet in the first place,” Billy muttered, his eyes following the movement of Steve’s tongue. “Next time we go out I’m gonna hold your fucking hand and if anyone says something stupid I’ll knock their lights out… what are you looking at?”

“It’s snowing,” Steve remarked simply, pointed at the yard behind them.

Billy turned around in his seat and smiled. The weed was beginning to make him feel strangely buoyant and carefree, and he didn’t think snow had ever looked so beautiful before. His chair scraped on the wooden deck when he stood up quickly and ran down the porch steps with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever.

He whooped loudly, his excited shout echoing in the snow-blanketed yard surrounded by pine trees. “C’mon, dude, this is awesome!”

“You think so?” Steve asked in a voice that was half-bored, half-amused; he stood up and pulled on his gloves. “It’s just snow… after eighteen years, the stuff kinda loses its novelty.”

Billy really had to pee and was feeling artistic, so he glanced around for a flat patch of undisturbed snow; he knew it was juvenile, but he’d always wanted to try writing his name in the pure white snow. When he finished the ‘y’ and shook the last drop of piss from his dick, he stood back to admire his work.

“Steve, check it out,” he said aloud, smirking as he zipped up his fly. “I wrote it in cursive. Pretty fancy, right? Why don’t you come over here and we’ll see if you can do any better…”

His voice trailed off as he turned and glanced back up at the porch, only to see that there was nobody sitting at the little table.

“Steve?”

_Did he go inside to use the bathroom?_

“Steve?” He called loudly, his voice echoing slightly as he wandered around the yard, looking down at the confusingly criss-crossed sets of footprints. The only sounds were a distant raven cawing and the wet crunch of snow beneath his boots. “Where’d you go, man?”

There was no answer.

Billy was starting to worry; he thought fleetingly of the monsters Steve had told him about the previous weekend, and wondered if they were a phenomenon exclusive to Hawkins.

_There’s no such thing as monsters, though._

“Come on, Steve,” he called, his voice rising a pitch as he squinted through the dense thicket of trees. “It’s not funny.”

_People are the real monsters._

Something about the weed sent his panicked imagination into hyperdrive, and the thoughts of snarling demodogs lurking behind trees turned to his father. He imagined Neil tracking them, somehow, following them upstate like the creep he was… clapping a hand over Steve’s mouth, perhaps with a chloroform-dipped handkerchief like a mustachioed movie villain, and dragging him away.

_After the shit he's pulled, I could almost believe it._

Billy snapped back to reality when he heard a sharp whistle coming from the trees; he whirled around to find the source, looking in all directions until he felt something cold and wet suddenly smack the back of his neck.

“What the fuck!?”

Steve stepped from behind a pine tree, laughing as he packed another snowball between his gloved hands.

“So, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Billy grinned and hastily scooped up some snow, pressing it into an oblong lump and hurling it at Steve with all his might.

Steve ducked behind a tree just in time, then popped back out and threw another snowball at Billy; it hit the back of his shoulder as he was running around the side of the cabin for shelter.

This continued for another ten minutes, until they were both breathless and rosy-cheeked. Their mingled shouts and laughter echoed faintly in the yard, and long trails of bootprints marred the otherwise pristine blanket of snow.

“Alright, alright, time out,” Billy panted, leaning down to rest his hands on his knees.

“Give up?” Steve said haughtily, leaning casually against a tree with his arms crossed.

“No,” Billy muttered, glancing up at him with a stubborn smirk. “Just catching my breath before I show you who’s boss.”

“Oh, come on,” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. “I won.”

“No, you didn’t,” he countered stubbornly. “And even if you did, it’d be ‘cause you have an unfair advantage: you’ve been playing in the snow since you were still wearing diapers, right?”

“Pretty much,” Steve admitted with a shrug. “Wait, what are you—”

Billy suddenly charged towards him, grinning deviously as he swept him into a tight bear hug; a moment later, he tripped on a rock buried in the snow and fell on his ass, taking Steve down with him.

“Christ, what a klutz,” Steve laughed, sitting on him and bending down until their faces were only two inches apart; his dark eyes wandered from Billy’s eyes to his mouth.

For what felt like the millionth time, Billy found himself inwardly marveling at Steve’s beauty: his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were the color of maple syrup in the fading afternoon sunlight; snowflakes melted on his eyelashes and the tips of shiny brown hair peeking out from under his bomber hat. Billy was pleasantly surprised when he took the initiative, cupped his face in his hands and kissed him.

_The weed is making him frisky._

Billy returned his kiss enthusiastically, savoring the way Steve’s tongue felt as it boldly greeted his own. He was so stoned and turned on that he barely noticed the icy dampness seeping through his jeans as the snow melted beneath his body.

When Steve broke away to take a breath, his smile faded as he slowly realized that he was straddling Billy’s upper thighs in a rather compromising position.

Billy rested his hands on Steve’s hips; he could see the faint outline of his cock, straining behind the layers of underwear and tight black denim.

“Time to go inside?” He asked in a low, suggestive murmur as one of his thumbs drifted down to brush against Steve’s tell-tale bulge.

Steve swallowed and nodded slowly, then leaned down as though he was going to kiss him again. Just before their lips touched, Steve smirked and nipped the tip of his nose mischievously, then yanked Billy’s knit beanie off, scooped up some snow with it and shoved it back onto his head. He took off cackling as Billy scrambled to his feet, spluttering indignantly and throwing his wet hat down on the ground.

“I won!” Steve crowed over his shoulder as he sprinted away.

“The hell you did!” Billy shouted back, cursing when he tripped again and lost his footing. “You seduced me, cheater!”

Running in snow was even harder than running in the deep sand of his childhood beach excursions, and the muscles in Billy’s legs were beginning to protest. He didn’t really care about winning or losing a stupid snowball fight, of course; he was having the best time of his life. He couldn’t take his eyes off Steve, who looked like a model in a winter catalog as he laughed and tore across the yard while snowflakes fell around him.

“Yeah, you’d _better_ run,” Billy yelled as he chased him around the cabin and back up to the porch, their boots clomping noisily on the split-log steps. “I’m gonna get you!”

He pursued Steve through the main room and down the hallway, where he finally caught him by the arm and shoved him roughly against the wood-paneled wall.

“Gotcha,” he growled playfully, gripping his wrists tightly and pinning them against the wall.

“Guess you did,” Steve panted breathlessly, looking at him with slightly stoned bedroom eyes.

Without releasing his wrists, Billy inclined his face to plant slow, leisurely kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

“I want you,” he whispered huskily against Steve’s throat. “I want you so fucking much.”

Steve’s breath hitched and his pulse quickened beneath Billy’s fingers. “I, uh… there’s just one thing.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing…”

“C’mon, just say it already,” Billy mumbled impatiently, breathing in the intoxicating scent of Steve’s cologne mingled with the smell of weed. “How many times do I have to tell you not to be embarrassed around me?”

“So, assuming we, uh… go all the way, will you…” Steve swallowed uneasily and cleared his throat. “I mean, you’ll stop if I say so, right? You won’t just… ignore me and keep going?”

_What the fuck?_

Billy hadn’t expected that; he quickly released Steve’s wrists and took half a step back, looking directly into his eyes. “Of course I’d stop if you told me to.”

Steve lowered his hands and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached out to hook his fingers onto the pockets of Billy’s leather jacket; his eyes shone in the dimly lit hallway as he tugged him closer.

“You swear?”

“Yeah…” Billy nodded earnestly as he looped his fingers around Steve’s. “Pinky swear.”

He leaned forward until their mouths pressed together, gently teasing Steve’s soft, compliant lips apart and sliding his tongue inside to taste him.

Nervous and stoned, Steve tried to continue talking between kisses. “It’s just… I’m a guy, too… so I know it’s probably hard to stop in, uh… the heat of the moment.”

_Look at him, all flustered ‘cause he’s about to get his cherry popped…_

“Christ, you’re cute,” Billy mumbled against his lips as he lowered one hand to the small of his back and pulled him even closer; he didn’t care if Steve could feel his hard-on pressing against his thigh. “Look, if you’re not enjoying yourself, just say so.”

“I don’t want to be dramatic, or… give you blue balls.”

“Shhh.” Billy swept his brown hair aside to bite his earlobe playfully. “My balls will survive. I’ll go jerk off in the bathroom if it comes to that… so don’t worry, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve repeated softly, prying himself reluctantly from Billy’s embrace; he began unbuttoning his coat with nervous fingers.

Billy helped him shrug the wool peacoat off his shoulders and took his hand again, leading him through the bedroom door.

“So, I guess I’m gonna, um…” Steve glanced over at the bathroom and turned red at the awkward, mutually understood implication. “Y’know… get ready.”

After Steve had clicked the bathroom door shut behind him, Billy sat on the edge of the large bed and pulled off his jacket, gloves, and boots. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to take off his socks when it was this cold; he bent down to sniff one reluctantly and was relieved that it didn’t smell offensive.

Steve’s voice suddenly called out from behind the bathroom door. “Are you just gonna sit there?”

Bewildered, Billy stood up quickly and cleared his throat. “Uh, is there something else I should be doing?”

“No, it’s just…” Steve paused. “Why don’t you go look for something to listen to?”

Billy spent the next five minutes sitting cross-legged on the green shag carpet, idly flipping through the couple dozen albums stored beneath the massive wooden 1960s Victrola.

“What the hell am I supposed to pick…” he muttered to himself as he wondered what Steve might consider appropriate lovemaking music. Most of the records had presumably belonged to Steve’s parents before being relegated to disused upstate cabin obscurity.

_Why would I want to spend our first time listening to Eric Clapton or Abba or any of this other shit?_

He paused when he saw Nick Drake’s ‘Pink Moon’. He had never heard of Nick Drake, but there was something he liked about the album cover, so he pulled the record from its protective sleeve, put it carefully on the player and set the needle on the outermost groove.

_I dunno if it’s good music for banging, but I’ll give it a try… if it’s lousy, I’ll just turn it off and tell him to pick something. He shouldn’t leave important decisions like this up to me._

Billy pulled his hooded sweatshirt over his head as he returned to the bedroom and went to the window; cold radiated from the glass, and he stared at his faint reflection, reaching up to tease one of his roguish curls back into place. He was pleasantly surprised by the record he’d picked; it was soothing, wistful, and somehow perfectly suited to making love for the first time in a cabin while snow fell silently outside.

_Jesus, why can’t I calm the hell down?_

Billy’s heart was pounding and his palms were sweaty despite the lingering chill in the room. Needing something to occupy his hands, he turned down the covers on the bed, then reached up to pull off his earring, wristwatch, and rings and set them on the bedside table. He squeezed the pendant hanging from his neck for a moment before deciding to leave it on; he wasn’t religious or superstitious, but he found some small measure of comfort in the memento from his mother.

_What would she say if she knew I’d fallen for a dude? Would she mind? Guess I’ll never know._

Shaking away the unbidden thoughts, he looked at the window and noted how dark it was getting; he switched on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a soft, yellow glow.

_“I saw it written and I saw it say, a pink moon is on its way…”_

Billy tried unsuccessfully to listen to the relaxing, folky music wafting from the other room rather than the faint sounds from the bathroom: the toilet flushing, the clatter of something being dropped in the sink, Steve muttering to himself, and a faucet running for what seemed like forever.

_Just don’t think about what he’s doing in there. Whatever you do, don’t think of him getting ready, touching his ass…_

“Fuck,” Billy said under his breath, feeling foolish as he paced anxiously from the bed to the window and back again. “I’m gonna cream my pants if he doesn’t come out soon…”

The thought made him glance down at the obvious hard-on straining at the front of his jeans; he wasn’t sure if it would be better to undress and get under the covers, or simply leave his clothes on.

_If he comes out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, it’ll seem weird if I’ve still got all my clothes on, but if I’m lying naked on the bed and he’s still dressed, he’ll—_

His fretful stream of thoughts was interrupted when the door finally clicked open and Steve appeared in the bathroom doorway with flushed cheeks and guarded eyes; he’d taken off his glasses and sweater, but he was still wearing his white thermal undershirt, jeans, and striped wool socks.

“Hey.” Steve looked a little relieved when he saw Billy standing there fully clothed. He ran his fingers reflexively through his hair and cocked his head slightly, listening as ‘Place to Be’ began playing from the other room. “What’s this?”

Billy shrugged as he turned away from the window and walked slowly towards him. “Just something I found.”

_“When I was young, younger than before, I never saw the truth hanging from the door… and now I’m older, see it face to face…”_

“Oh, I know what this is…” Steve’s mouth curved into a little smile as old memories returned to him. “Nick Drake, right? My parents used to play this record in the old days.”

Billy stepped up to him and took one of his hands, playing idly with his fingers. “I’ve never heard of him, but I like it so far.”

Steve looked down at their clasped hands and traced his thumb slowly along Billy’s palm; they hadn’t made eye contact since he’d stepped out of the bathroom, and a palpable, electric tension seemed to crackle between them.

Billy felt goosebumps prickle all the way up his arm at Steve’s timid yet suggestive touch. Determined not to show how nervous he felt, Billy squeezed Steve’s hand and led him towards the king-size bed.

“Have a seat,” he instructed quietly, hoping Steve didn’t notice the imperceptible quaver in his voice.

The mattress creaked when Steve sat down slowly on the edge of the bed; he looked up curiously at Billy, finally meeting his eyes. “I know it’s a little late to be asking this, but…”

“What?”

“Have you ever, uh… done this before?”

“No,” Billy admitted quietly, feeling like an inexperienced loser. He may have been the lukewarm recipient of a few unmemorable blowjobs from various high school girls, but he’d never actually gotten around to sticking his dick in anyone. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” Steve mumbled quickly, looking like he might be suppressing a smile. “I, uh… I don’t mind.”

“Seems we’re both a couple of blushing virgins in this department,” Billy remarked with a wry chuckle as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor.

_But not for much longer._

“I’m not a virgin,” Steve protested defensively as he pretended not to stare at the well-muscled torso less than a foot away from him.

Billy smirked slyly and cocked an eyebrow as he sat down next to Steve and reached over to give his bottom a playful squeeze. “This is, though.”

Steve’s jaw tensed and he shoved him roughly. “You know what I mean…”

“This is gonna be _slightly_ different than whatever you used to do with those Hawkins chicks in the back of your BMW, Romeo.”

Steve’s hand lingered on Billy’s left bicep for a few moments before drifting across his pectorals to his rest on his left nipple.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” he said softly.

Billy reached over and tugged Steve’s shirt off in one smooth motion, then mirrored him by putting his own palm on the boy’s chest, feeling his heartbeat pulsing rapidly beneath his fingers. “So’s yours… and you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“That’s just ‘cause I’m cold,” Steve muttered unconvincingly; he scooted back on the bed, stuck his long legs under the covers and drew the thick, soft blanket up to his chin.

“Me, too,” Billy murmured as he crawled over to him. “I’ve got goosebumps, see?” 

Steve turned down a corner of the blanket, patting the mattress beside him shyly. “Guess you’d better get in, then.”

Despite the warmth from the heater, it was still a little chilly in the wood-paneled bedroom, and Billy gratefully got under the covers next to Steve, snuggling against him for warmth; they were both still wearing their jeans and socks.

_“I was strong, strong in the sun, I thought I’d see when day is done. Now I’m weaker than the palest blue. Oh, so weak in this need for you…”_

“Do you want a blow job?” Steve blurted suddenly, looking away and biting his lip uncertainly, almost as though he regretted saying it.

Billy stared dumbly at Steve for a moment as he processed the uncharacteristically bold offer, then nodded and mumbled, “Yes, please.”

_I think he’s stalling before the Main Event, but that’s okay. He can take all the time he needs._

Billy rested his head on one of the pillows and watched expectantly as Steve disappeared beneath the blanket and began unbuttoning his jeans with shaking fingers. His cock had been hard for what felt like an eternity, so it sprang up eagerly when Steve unzipped his fly and wrapped his fingers around its thick base.

Since Billy couldn’t see what Steve was doing under the covers, the tactile sensations were amplified; he shuddered involuntarily at the first touch of Steve’s lips on the tip of his cock. After a minute, he lifted up the edge of the blanket and peered down at him, fascinated and extremely turned on. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen: the one and only Steve Harrington, looking up at him with large, wet eyes shining in the darkness and Billy’s hard cock in his mouth.

Steve mumbled something unintelligible beneath the covers.

“Huh?” Billy stared down him blankly. “Dome pear?”

Steve raised his head just long enough to repeat himself. “Don’t stare.”

“Didn’t anyone teach you not to talk with your mouth full?” Billy retorted with a wicked smirk, though he respected Steve’s request and lowered the edge of the blanket again. He leaned back on his pillow and sighed contentedly, staring up at the ceiling with stoned, deliriously aroused eyes.

Steve’s movements were cautious and clumsy, and he wasn’t very successful at keeping his teeth from dragging along the hard length of Billy's cock. Despite this less than masterful performance, Billy curled his toes and bit his lip, climaxing a minute later and reaching down to grip Steve’s hair as he came.

The muffled choking noises that Steve made were oddly cute. He emerged from beneath the blanket coughing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; his thick, brown hair was rumpled and he looked down apologetically at Billy.

“Was that okay? My jaw was getting pretty sore, trying to keep my teeth from—”

Billy sat up and interrupted him with a kiss; he could taste himself in Steve’s mouth. “That was more than okay.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Steve mumbled sheepishly. “You’re just being nice.”

“I came, didn’t I?”

_And he swallowed. Holy fuck._

Steve glanced down at Billy’s cock. “Yeah, and you’re still hard.”

“So are you,” Billy pointed out, his eyes drawn to the bulge in Steve's tight black Levi’s. He reached over to to unfasten them, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband and tugging them down to his hips.

“Hang on.” Steve put his hands over Billy’s and pulled them away gently, then abruptly stood up on the bed, making the elderly mattress creak in protest; he smiled down coyly at Billy, towering almost six feet above him.

“You’ll never get ‘em off that way,” he explained, swaying unsteadily as he slid the jeans past his thighs. “Either I’ve put on a few pounds, or they shrank in the wash… they’re too tight.”

“Nah, they’re perfect.” Billy sat up and grabbed one of Steve’s calves when it seemed like he might stumble off the side of the bed. “Legs as pretty as these deserve to be showcased in snug pants; the tighter the better, if you ask me.”

When Steve had successfully shimmied out of his jeans and tossed them on the floor, he sat back down in nothing but his briefs and socks. He looked over at Billy with a strange look in his eyes as he scooted back under the blanket.

Billy leaned over to tilt Steve’s chin up and kiss the corner of his jaw; his mouth lingered there, tickling Steve’s neck with his warm breath.

Steve flinched a little when he felt Billy's fingertips under the waistband of his briefs.

Billy lowered his voice to a seductive growl. “Can I take ‘em off?”

“Y-yeah…”

Within five seconds, he’d pulled Steve’s underwear off and tossed them in the air with a dramatic flourish.

“Should I, uh, take my socks off, too?” Steve asked, his brow furrowed with nervous uncertainty.

Billy mischievously arched an eyebrow. “Only if you want me to suck your toes.”

“What?” Steve made a face and shook his head. “Uh… no, thanks. I think I'll pass.”

“Turn over,” Billy said quietly, trying to keep his voice level despite his nerves and the relentless pounding of his heart.

Steve’s eyes widened imperceptibly, but he rolled over obediently onto his stomach and propped himself up on his forearms, twisting around to look over his shoulder at the boy kneeling behind him.

“Billy?”

“Yeah?”

Steve hesitated, biting his lip before continuing. “Am I gonna enjoy this?”

Billy swallowed hard and nodded, flashing what he hoped was a sexy, confident smile.

_Only one way to find out._

Between the heater gradually taking effect and the hot, excited blood pumping rapidly through his veins, Billy didn’t want the blanket on anymore; ignoring Steve’s self-conscious protests, he shoved it down to the foot of the bed.

“Wow,” he breathed, licking his lips as he gazed down at the feast spread before him.

Billy had seen Steve without clothes on before in the gym showers, but it was very different to see him stretched out beneath him in all his exposed glory. The soft, yellow light from the bedside lamp illuminated the constellation of moles decorating his back; there were even a few on his ass, and Billy couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss each one. 

“That tickles,” Steve mumbled into his pillow, tensing as Billy’s lips lightly brushed against the smooth skin of his round little bottom.

Steve shivered at the sound of the little bottle of lube being uncapped, and he flinched at the first touch of Billy’s slick fingers. First one finger went in, then another, gradually spreading him open and exploring his most secret place.

Billy paused when Steve buried his face in the pillow to muffle a strange, high-pitched whine. “Sorry, did that hurt?”

“N-no…”

“You sure?”

“It… it doesn’t hurt, it’s just…” Steve trailed off and took a deep, shaky breath. “…intense.”

_Hell yeah, it is._

Billy was in heaven, savoring each sweet little moan and muffled whimper. “Have you been practicing, pretty boy?”

“What? No…”

“Liar,” Billy leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “You’re handling two fingers like a champ. Do you look at that photo of me when you touch yourself at home?”

“N-none of your business,” Steve muttered through gritted teeth, glancing over his shoulder at him before quickly turning his face away.

Billy twisted his fingers and rubbed more insistently. “C’mon, tell me.”

Steve inhaled sharply and pinched his eyes closed again; he gripped both ends of his pillow with white-knuckled, trembling fingers. “Okay, okay, m-maybe… occasionally…”

“I’ve been jerking off every night to that picture you gave me on Valentine’s,” Billy said huskily. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

“Is all the commentary really neccessar— oh, _fuck,_ ” Steve gasped out as a third finger was squeezed inside.

Billy watched Steve’s reactions closely, taking each moan, flinch, and shudder into account as he probed diligently with the tip of his middle finger. He knew he’d finally found the right spot when Steve arched his back and relaxed, pressing his bottom up to take in the full length of Billy’s dexterous fingers.

_There it is…_

“Does that feel good, babe?” Billy murmured, lowering his voice to the deep, seductive timbre he knew Steve couldn’t resist. He concentrated on stroking the sensitive spot he’d discovered, ignoring the discomfort when his hand began to cramp.

After another minute or two of attentive fondling, Steve suddenly tensed and shuddered, moaning into his pillow as he came. “Oh… oh my _god._ ”

Billy pulled his fingers out gently and patted Steve’s bottom affectionately, then rolled him over onto his back. His cock was throbbing with impatient want and he felt like he’d explode if he had to wait any longer. He pulled a condom from his pocket before hastily shimmying out of his jeans and tossing them on the floor.

Still breathing heavily and shaking, Steve opened his eyes to smile deliriously up at him; his smile faltered when Billy spread his mole-speckled thighs apart and knelt between them.

“Um… should I turn over, or…?” Steve asked uncertainly, glancing down from Billy’s eyes to his mouth when he deftly tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth.

“No, this is better,” Billy answered in a voice that was low and thick with desire. He rolled on the condom and nestled his hips between Steve’s parted thighs, staring directly into his wide, brown eyes. “I wanna look at you while I fuck you, pretty boy. Is that cool?”

Steve’s cheeks turned even redder and he covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god…”

_I’ll take that as a ‘yes’._

Billy reached down between them, fumbling briefly with his cock as he shifted his weight, trying to get the angle just right. He pulled Steve’s knees up higher, spreading him apart, and paused at the entrance, silently asking him for permission one last time.

_As hard as it would be at this point… I really would stop if he wanted to back out._

Steve peeked at him from between his fingers. “What the hell are you waiting fo— _oh_!”

The tip was in. Bracing himself with one hand, Billy used the other to grip the base of his cock and guide it inside as gently as he could. He nudged himself a little deeper, aided by the generous amount of lube he used, and watched Steve wince and bite his lip.

“You okay, Stevie? How does that feel?”

“D-don’t ask me to… t-talk right now,” Steve hissed through clenched teeth, wrapping his long legs around Billy’s waist and squeezing him like a python.

Billy wasn’t prepared for how hot and incredibly tight Steve would feel; he assumed he had loosened him up sufficiently with his fingers a few minutes earlier, but Steve was nervous and his muscles clenched instinctively against the intimate invasion.

“It… it’s not all gonna fit,” Steve whispered hoarsely, his hands still covering his face.

“It’ll fit,” Billy reassured him with more confidence than he felt; he dreaded hurting him, but it seemed unavoidable.

“N-no it won’t…” Steve inhaled sharply and groaned. “Oh, _god_ …”

He was so tight that Billy had to ease himself inside in half-inch increments, burrowing deeper with each shallow, carefully controlled stroke.

“Just relax for me, babe,” he said in a low, soothing purr, propping himself up on his forearms as he leaned over him. “That’s it, that’s good…”

His highly aroused, testosterone-fueled impulse was to begin thrusting rapidly like a jackhammer until Steve was a moaning mess beneath him, but he resisted his less gentlemanly instincts and kept his movements patient and slow. Once he was buried to the hilt he paused, wishing he could tell what Steve was thinking.

“Hey,” he murmured, gently prying Steve’s hands from his face and moving them onto his shoulders instead. “Look at me.”

Steve kept his eyes closed and shook his head, breathing shakily; his long fingers gripped Billy’s shoulders, digging his nails in so hard it was almost painful.

“Look at me, Stevie,” he repeated softly. “I want to see you.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered open reluctantly; tears clung to the tips of his dark lashes, and he bit his trembling bottom lip.

The look of overwhelmed desire and emotion in those trusting brown eyes made Billy’s heart constrict.

“Does it hurt too much?” Billy bent down to kiss away the salty drops gathering in the corners of his eyes. “You want me to stop?”

“No, d-don’t…” Steve answered tremulously before squeezing his eyes shut again; his voice was so quiet Billy could barely hear him. “Don’t stop.”

_Thank god._

“Okay,” Billy whispered as he slowly withdrew, drawing a low moan from Steve.

_This is absolutely incredible._

He moved Steve’s legs a little higher around his waist and slid back in carefully, angling his shallow strokes toward the sweet spot he’d succeeded in finding a few minutes earlier. More than anything, he wanted to make Steve feel good and show him how perfectly they fit together.

_I want him to smile whenever he thinks back on today, and not… try to forget it, or wish it never happened._

Steve inhaled sharply when Billy bent his head to drag his tongue over one of his nipples.

“Do you like that, babe?”

“Y-yeah, just… slow down.”

Billy obediently slowed his thrusts as he inclined his face to nuzzle Steve’s neck; he chose a spot low enough to be hidden by a shirt collar and began suckling aggressively.

Steve winced at the strange sensation above his collarbone and clutched fistfuls of Billy’s wavy hair. “Are you— _ah_ — are you seriously giving me a h-hicky right now— oh, _fuck_ …”

Satisfied that he’d left his mark, Billy raised his head from Steve’s neck; he braced himself with one hand and and reached down with the other to grip Steve’s dick, which brushed stiffly between their stomachs. He jerked it in time with his thrusts: three pumps of his fist to each roll of his hips.

Steve whimpered, gripped Billy's shoulders and dug his heels into his lower back.

_I really hope he’s enjoying this, 'cause I sure as hell am._

Billy watched him intently, uncertain if it was his hand on his dick, his tongue in his mouth, or his cock in his ass that was making Steve shiver and moan; he couldn’t quite tell if the sounds and expressions he made were those of pleasure or pain, either. Trying to perfect his angle of entry, he grabbed one of Steve’s knees and pushed his leg up even higher as he continued to stroke his dick, which was rigid and slick with pre-come.

_He’s close._

“You’re so good, Steve,” he whispered encouragingly between feverish kisses. “So… so fucking good.”

They both had a fine sheen of sweat on their brows. As Billy moved faster, the wooden headboard of the four-poster bed began knocking rhythmically against the wall; he liked not having to worry about how much noise they made, or how long they were taking.

_Thank god for this cabin._

“You’re mine now,” he hissed fiercely against Steve’s open, gasping mouth. “You know that, don’t you? All mine.”

Steve looked up at him and nodded breathlessly, his whimpers rising in pitch until until he abruptly tensed and buried his face against Billy’s neck.

“Oh, Jesus,” he moaned, squeezing his thighs tighter around Billy's waist as he shuddered through his release. Warm, sticky ejaculate spurted between their abdomens.

Billy continued to move his hips, getting dizzyingly closer to his own climax. He noticed that the first side of the Nick Drake record had stopped; the sudden absence of music seemed to amplify the other sounds in the room: the bedframe thumping against the wall, the mattress creaking rhythmically, and Steve’s pretty little moans. When Billy quickened his pace enough to hear the faint slapping of his balls against Steve’s ass, the symphony of erotic sounds sent him soaring blissfully over the edge; pleasure surged through him like a million tiny electric pulses.

He clasped Steve’s face between his palms, kissing him deeply and looking directly at him as he came, mesmerized by the raw, naked emotion in those beautiful dark eyes.

_I love you._

He didn’t say it aloud, telling himself it was disingenuous to make the three-word declaration so soon, especially in such a sensitive situation. In truth, he was just terrified of the possibility that Steve might not say it back.

_I’m such a coward._

After carefully pulling out, Billy wrapped the spent condom in a tissue and tossed it onto the bedside table, where it bounced and fell on the floor. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to steady his breathing. Without the music playing, the room seemed impossibly quiet and still.

“Wow,” Billy said quietly, unable to think of anything more profound. He traced his thumb along the back of Steve’s hand beneath the covers. “Are, uh… are you okay?”

Steve nodded and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“You sure? Did it hurt?”

Steve hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yeah…”

_Damn._

“A lot…?”

Steve nodded again.

_God, did he hate it? Maybe he’ll never want to do it again because it hurt too much._

“Oh.” Billy was starting to feel intensely guilty; he wondered if there was any way he could have been gentler, or if he should’ve used more lube. “I'm sorry.”

_He came, though… twice, actually. So he couldn’t’ve hated it that much, right?_

“You don’t have to apologize,” Steve mumbled, picking absentmindedly at a loose thread on the blanket. “It’s not like I thought it wouldn’t hurt the first time, you know?”

_First time?_

Billy rolled over onto his side to face him, raising his eyebrows hopefully. “So… you’re saying there’ll be a second time?”

Steve grimaced and shook his head quickly. “Not, uh… not this weekend, no.”

“Next weekend, then?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Steve grumbled as he smacked his arm. “That’s… well, it depends, y’know?”

“On…?” Billy prompted coyly, though he already knew the answer; he just liked making him blush.

“Depends on how my ass feels,” Steve mumbled, averting his eyes as he pulled his knees up to his chest.

“Get well soon, buddy,” Billy murmured solemnly, reaching over Steve’s folded legs to pat his bottom affectionately. “I miss you already.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Steve laughed as he used his feet to push him roughly off the side of the bed. “Don’t talk to my butt like it can hear you.”

Billy fell on the thick carpet with a heavy thud that rattled the lamp on the nightstand; he groaned in disgust when he realized he’d landed on the sticky, tissue-wrapped condom.

“Lovely,” he muttered under his breath, grimacing as he peeled it off the back of his thigh.

Steve’s head appeared at the edge of the bed, his chaotic hair sticking in all directions. “What?”

“Nothing… I just sat on the damn rubber.”

“Oh… gross.”

Billy stood up and walked naked to the bathroom to throw it away; he was amused to find that the shag carpeting extended into the bathroom, which had an avocado-green sink, toilet, and bathtub. There was even fuzzy carpet on the toilet seat and lid.As he stood at the toilet taking a long piss, he frowned at the short curls surrounding the base of his cock, which were damp and matted with lube. The large bathtub was beginning to look very tempting.

“I’m kind of in the mood for a bath,” Billy called through the half-opened door. “Does that sound good to you, babe?”

“Yeah.”

After Billy had turned on the faucets and plugged the drain, he went to the Victrola in the main room to flip the Nick Drake record over to side B. When he returned to the bathroom to adjust the taps and test the water temperature, Steve appeared in the doorway with the blanket wrapped around him.

“Is the water ready?”

“Yeah, take that off and get over here.”

Steve inhaled sharply and winced as he lowered himself slowly into the hot water.

“Does it sting?” Billy asked quietly as he stepped in behind him and slid down into the deep tub; he arranged his legs carefully, with one on either side of Steve, and made sure his partially erect dick wasn’t poking his back.

“I’ll survive,” Steve mumbled, reaching for the bar of soap.

Billy soaked a washcloth and began gently swiping it across Steve’s shoulders, silently counting his moles. “Will we be able to come up here again?”

“I guess so… I’d have to think of something to tell my parents, though.”

“What’d you tell them about this weekend?”

“I said I was going to see a concert,” Steve said, absentmindedly rubbing soap on his forearm. “Mom wasn’t thrilled, but I’m eighteen, so she can’t really _forbid_ me or anything.”

“You could invent a girlfriend who lives upstate,” Billy suggested as he sluiced water over Steve’s hair, even though he didn't particularly like the idea. “Or say you’ve taken up ice fishing.”

“Really?” Steve snorted, sweeping a wet lock of hair off his forehead. “Ice fishing?”

“Sure, why not? I hear it’s a relaxing, wholesome hobby.”

“My folks might just be clueless enough to buy a story like that,” Steve said pensively. “I’d just say regular fishing, probably, since the ice is gonna melt soon.”

“I can kinda picture you in one of those lame fisherman hats and a khaki vest with ten pockets.”

Steve chuckled and leaned his head back against Billy’s chest. “I could buy a bucket of fresh fish in town and take it home as proof.”

Billy wrinkled his nose. “There’s no way in hell I’m driving all the way back to Hawkins with a bucket of damn trout in the car, man.”

“I’m not sure there’re any trout in this lake…” Steve held up one of his hands and began counting on his fingers as he rattled off the names of local fish species. “But there are bass, pike, crappies, and—”

“Hold on a sec… crappies?” Billy snorted with laughter. “Someone seriously decided to name a type of fish _crappie_?”

“I assume it meant something different in French… it probably started out as _crappé_ or something.”

_I'm in love with a fish nerd. Life is strange._

“Well, I bet it smells just as _crappé_ as any other fish.” Billy smirked at his own bad joke as he reached around Steve to find one of his hands and clasp it in his own.

Steve entwined their fingers beneath the soapy water and glanced over his shoulder at him. “If fishing isn’t your thing, we could go swimming in the lake when it gets warm enough in the summer.”

“Naked?” Billy prompted hopefully. He wouldn’t admit it, but it was extremely comforting to hear Steve talk about the summer like he assumed they’d still be together that far down the road.

“ _No_ , not naked,” Steve scoffed, twisting around to flick some water in Billy’s face. “This isn’t a nudist resort, last time I checked.”

“Not even for a night swim?” Billy very much enjoyed the idea of bare-bottomed shenanigans with Steve in a moonlit lake on a warm summer evening. “Nobody would see us.”

“Jeez, you’re so annoying sometimes.”

“Is that a yes…?”

“It’s a maybe.”

Billy leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “Looking forward to it.”

He swept the long ends of Steve’s hair off the back of his wet neck and planted a kiss there, letting his lips linger until the moment was interrupted by a telltale little growl.

“Hungry?”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, looking down and rubbing his stomach. “It’s been a long time since we had lunch.”

“Alright, well, we’re clean enough, I guess.” Billy stood up in the bathtub, water streaming from his body. “You in the mood for a grilled cheese?”

Steve nodded, reaching up to wring the water from the ends of his hair. When he pulled the stopper from the drain, the tub gurgled loudly as it emptied. He stood dripping on the bathmat and wrapped a towel around his waist, smiling a little when Billy stepped up to help him dry his hair.

After they’d put on their pajamas, they went to the kitchen, where Steve mixed more hot cocoa and Billy made grilled cheese sandwiches. They were both ravenously hungry and polished off the sandwiches in record time, then carried their mugs of cocoa out to the main room.

As Billy tossed another log on the fire, he silently commanded himself not to make an ass of himself again if another rat made an appearance.

“Hopefully that guy doesn’t have friends and family hiding all over the cabin,” he muttered as he dusted his hands off on his pants and took a long sip of cocoa. “If I see another one I’m sleeping in the damn car…”

“Maybe we should bring a cat next time,” Steve joked, flopping down on the squashy brown leather couch. “That’ll keep the critters away.”

“I used to want a cat,” Billy reflected. “But my mom was allergic, and my dad said cats were girly pets, so that was the end of that.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Steve. “That doesn’t mean I want you to like, get me one for my birthday, okay? Pets are a lot of work, and I don’t know if I feel like buying flea collars and scooping cat turds out of a litter box.”

“You’re turning eighteen next month, right? What _do_ you want?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Billy said, feeling self-conscious and wishing he hadn’t mentioned his birthday. “You’re always giving me stuff… Zippos, jackets, weekend getaways like this…”

_He even gave me his virginity, for god's sake._

“Oh, come on, Billy... what do you want?”

“Just some birthday nookie would be fine.” He winked at Steve, enjoying the way his cheeks turned pink. “Maybe with you riding on top, or—”

“I get the picture,” Steve said hastily. “Forget I asked.”

Billy knelt in front of the television and peered curiously at the old Sony video cassette player. “This is a weird-looking VCR… why is the slot so small?”

“Probably because it’s not really a VCR, it’s our old Betamax,” Steve explained, sipping his cocoa. “When my parents buy a new TV or toaster or whatever, the old crap sometimes ends up here, if it still works.”

Billy saw a shoebox sitting on top of the Betamax player; curious, he blew off the fine layer of dust and looked inside.

“Grease… Annie Hall… The Goodbye Girl… who bought these, your mom? Superman… Star Wars… oh, here we go.” He held up a tape and grinned. “You in the mood for something spooky?”

Steve pushed his glasses up and squinted at the movie Billy was holding. “I haven’t seen ‘Alien’ in years…”

“My mom wouldn’t let me see it when it came out, so I snuck into the theater.” He chuckled a little at the memory, even though thoughts of his departed mother always made him a little melancholy. “Should’ve listened to her… I ended up having nightmares about slimy xenomorphs for a month.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Steve, who was regarding him in the sad, sympathetic way he always did when Billy talked about the late Mrs. Hargrove. He cleared his throat and looked back down at the video in his hands. “Anyway, you’ve apparently almost gotten killed by an _actual_  alien, so maybe stuff like this isn’t even scary for you… want to pick something else?”

“Nah, let’s watch it.” Steve crossed his legs and patted a spot on the sofa next to him. “C’mere.”

Billy popped the movie into the old Betamax player, then sat down next to Steve and casually draped an arm around his shoulders. As the eery opening music played, Billy leaned over to kiss him, sucking gently on his upper lip to clean off the thin moustache of cocoa he'd acquired.

“Hey, Billy…” Steve mumbled with his eyes glued to the television screen. “Are we actually gonna watch it, or…”

“Yeah, yeah… I’ll be good.” Billy shifted to the opposite end of the couch and smiled at him. “Here, gimme your feet.”

Steve drained the last of his hot chocolate and stretched out on his stomach, resting his head on a cushion and his feet on Billy’s lap. He sighed contentedly as Billy pulled off his socks and began massaging his heels.

“Mmm, that feels nice.”

When Billy’s hands were getting tired, he put Steve’s socks back on and asked him to turn around and lie with his head on his lap, so he could rub his shoulders through his sweatshirt.

“You don’t have to do all that,” Steve mumbled against Billy’s leg. “Your hands must be sore.”

_Not as sore as your ass, probably. This is the least I can do._

“Don’t worry about it, babe.”

About halfway through the movie, he glanced down and noticed that Steve seemed to be on the brink of falling asleep. “You want me to turn it off?”

“No,” Steve mumbled, his eyes only half-opened. “I’m watching it.”

“You’re falling asleep, though.”

“No, I’m not,” Steve insisted, even as he tried to stifle a yawn. He stared blearily at the television screen as Sigourney Weaver’s cat hissed angrily at the approaching alien. “At least the cat makes it to the end, I think… Dustin’s cat wasn’t so lucky.”

“Dustin’s cat?” Billy repeated slowly, mystified. He could never remember the names of his sister’s nerdy little friends, with the exception of Lucas. “That curly-haired kid Max hangs out with?”

“Yeah…” Steve yawned again. “He was trying to keep a monster as a pet, believe it or not, and it got hungry, I guess…”

_Jesus Christ._

When Billy looked down just a few minutes later, he saw that Steve had fallen asleep on his lap: his glasses, adorably askew on his peaceful face, dug into Billy’s thigh and a tiny spot of drool was beginning to soak through the thin flannel of his pajama pants.

_Even when he’s drooling on me in his sleep, he’s perfect._

Billy took a deep breath and lowered his voice to a hesitant, husky whisper. “In case you didn’t already know… I, um… I love you.”

As expected, Steve didn’t respond, and Billy felt cowardly for not having the balls to say it when he was conscious. But even if nobody heard him, he’d spoken the three terrifying words aloud, and that still felt significant because he hadn’t said them to anyone since his mother died.

Reluctant to disturb his peaceful slumber, Billy sat there and finished watching the movie, even though he knew how it ended. When the credits finished rolling, he shifted Steve’s head carefully and stood up from the couch to rewind the video. The room suddenly became much darker when he switched off the television, now lit only by the glowing embers in the fireplace. Trying not to wake him, he scooped Steve into his arms as gingerly as he could and carried him slowly to the bedroom.

Steve sighed softly when Billy laid him on the bed and pulled a blanket over him; he didn’t wake up when Billy took off his glasses and whispered “Sleep tight, babe” on his way out of the room.

One of the few good things about the thick shag carpeting was how well it muffled footsteps; Billy liked not having to tiptoe as he made his way back to the front of the cabin. Without caring about how silly he looked, he pulled his boots and jacket on over his pajamas and went outside for a smoke. As he paced the length of the patio continuously to keep warm, he looked past the porch roof at the night sky; the faint moonlight illuminated his breath, the wisps of smoke from his cigarette and the falling snowflakes.

Despite the biting cold seeping through the thin fabric of his pajama pants, he stayed outside pacing briskly and smoking for the next half hour. He knew he’d have more trouble than usual falling asleep tonight, because his head was filled to the brim with Steve.

He thought of how beautifully carefree he’d looked as he sprinted around the cabin just a few hours earlier, rosy-cheeked and laughing like a little kid.

He thought of the way his lips curved into a shy smile when he leaned in for a kiss, and the overwhelmed, bewildered trust in his eyes when Billy was buried deep inside him.

He thought of his peaceful, dreaming face and his exquisite, sleeping body nestled beneath flannel sheets and thick blankets: soft, warm, and safe.

 _And all mine._

Shivering, Billy flicked his cigarette butt into the snow and went back inside, welcomed by the comforting warmth of the cabin. As he got ready for bed and brushed his teeth, he thought about what to cook in the morning; a lover as perfect as Steve deserved a breakfast fit for a king.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos!


	16. Birthday Boy

**Thursday, March 21st, 1985**

“Oh, Jesus…”

“C’mon, Steve, just a little more.”

“No, it’s too much,” he groaned wearily, pinching his eyes closed. "I can't..."

“You're doing great, though,” Billy encouraged, stifling a smile at the cute way Steve protested and whined. “C’mon, open your eyes. Look at me.”

“Mind if we stop for a minute? I need a drink of water."

Billy sighed impatiently; they were so close to finishing. He had been pushing Steve to his limits for the last hour, though, and was proud of him for lasting so long. Lowering his voice to make sure he wasn't overheard, he leaned closer and whispered, “C'mon, baby... this'll just take a minute."

“Fine,” Steve sighed heavily, looking down glumly at the page of sample exam questions in his chemistry textbook; he read the last one aloud in a bored monotone. “Consider the reaction A + B —> 2C, where the reaction is found to be first-order in A and zero-order in B. What would happen to the rate of reaction if you doubled the concentration of both A and B?”

Billy and Steve had been sitting across from each other at the Harrington’s kitchen table for almost an hour, reviewing for an upcoming chemistry exam. Billy found the material every bit as dull and pointless as Steve did, of course, but he understood it perfectly; it was an exercise in patience for him to painstakingly guide Steve through the chapter, trying to find the simplest ways to explain the complicated concepts.

“God, this is stupid,” Steve muttered, his brow furrowing in concentration as his dark eyes scanned the disorganized jumble of notes scrawled in his composition book. “Why do they have to torture us with this crap? I’m never gonna need to know any of this.”

Billy shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a drag, but what can we do about it? Go ahead, you know this.”

“Is it… A? Rate remains the same?” Steve asked hesitantly, tapping the page with his pencil eraser; the tip of his tongue poked out between his lips. “Or no, wait... it's D, right? Yeah, the rate doubles.”

“There you go.” Billy leaned back in his chair and applauded, beaming proudly at the boy seated across from him. “See? Not so hard after all.”

Steve snapped his textbook closed and dropped his head down onto it with a long sigh. “Thank god… that was brutal.”

Billy glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Well, looks like your hour of torture is up.”

He wondered what Mrs. Harrington’s plans were for that afternoon; it had been raining all day, so it seemed unlikely that she'd want to leave the dry warmth of her large, comfortable house. 

_It'd be nice if she'd go run some errands or something, so I could pull Steve upstairs for some... rainy-day activities._

The lewd thought made him start to get hard, and he stretched his leg out under the table to gently nudge Steve’s sneaker with the toe of his biker boot.

Steve opened his eyes without lifting his head from his chemistry book, looking at Billy with a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Seriously?”

Billy smiled back, winking as he held up his wrist and tapped his watch. “I’m off-duty now, so…”

Steve raised his head and nodded in the direction of the living room, where his mother was listening to music and arranging cut flowers. “She’s home, though… maybe we could go to your place, instead?”

“Not gonna work today, at least not for...  _that_.” Billy shook his head as he continued to skim the toe of his boot up Steve’s calf, enjoying the way he still blushed at the slightest sensual touch, even after everything they’d done together. “I dunno what Max is up to, but Susan’s definitely home… she said she was gonna make me a chocolate cake, even though I told her five times that she really didn’t have to.”

“A cake?” Steve asked blankly as he took off his glasses and put them away in their leather case. “Why’s she making you a cake today?”

“Take a wild guess.” Billy was only slightly disappointed that Steve had forgotten; birthdays and holidays hadn’t been a big deal to him since he was a kid, when his mother was still around to make them wonderful. “I told her she didn’t need to go to all that trouble; I’m not eight years old. You, uh... you could come back with me and have a slice, if you want."

“Wait, it’s your birthday… _today_?” Steve asked slowly, his eyes widening with mild panic. “I… I thought it was the thirty-first.”

“Nope.”

“Ah, crap,” Steve fretted, running a hand through his thick hair. “I’m sorry… I didn’t get you anything yet.”

“Don’t sweat it," Billy said with a shrug. "Three more years ’til the important one, right? No need for a fake I.D. after I hit the big two-one.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Mrs. Harrington said in a sing-song voice as she sailed into the kitchen holding a vase of tulips, her high-heeled pumps clicking loudly on the linoleum. She placed the flowers on the windowsill and stood back to admire the effect, pursing her lips at the dreary, wet sky. “It sure would be nice if the weather would perk up a little… I’ve had just about enough of this gosh darn rain.”

“It’s Billy’s birthday today, Mom,” Steve announced. “I'm gonna stop by his house for a while, okay?”

“Well, how wonderful!” Mrs. Harrington smiled widely at Billy as she reached over to pat him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday, dear. I’m sorry we’re getting such terrible rain on your special day.”

“It’s all right, it’s not like I had a garden party planned or anything.”

“Is your mother making you a cake?”

“I think so, yeah.” Billy looked down to scrutinize his fingernails, wishing he could change the subject; he didn’t like being fussed over, and he didn’t like having to tactfully remind people that his mother was dead. “My  _step_ -mom likes to make a big deal out of birthdays and holidays.”

“Well, of course she does,” Mrs. Harrington said sagely on her way out of the kitchen. “It’s part of a mother’s job, you know.”

“So… we’re going soon, right?” Steve asked quietly, rising from the table with a strange expression on his face. “I’ll, uh, be right back.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Bathroom,” he replied succinctly, glancing back over his shoulder at Billy before leaving the room. “Stay there, I’ll be back in a few.”

_Is it just me, or is he acting kinda weird?_

Suddenly all alone in the Harrington family’s quiet, spacious kitchen, Billy made a small stack of the textbooks and notebooks Steve had left spread across the table; he used his hands to sweep up the grey bits of eraser and threw a few crumpled sheets of notebook paper in the trash. As he looked around the room, he couldn’t help smiling a little at the memories of Steve getting tipsy on champagne on Valentine’s Day, and the way he opened his mouth so Billy could feed him chocolates.

_We’ve come a long way since then… and we’ve come a lot, too._

Billy had walked with a little extra pep in his step since he’d finally lost his virginity with Steve; he knew it was ridiculous to let it go to his head, but he couldn't help it: life was wonderful and he felt like the king of the world. By his count, they’d made love a total of four times. The first was in the cabin, of course; Billy would remember details from that weekend for the rest of his life. He’d been so relieved that Steve seemed to enjoy himself, and that the pain hadn't discouraged him from letting Billy have him again, about two weeks later.

That was the second time, when Billy was at Steve’s house for one of their usual tutoring sessions. Mrs. Harrington went to the DMV and Billy impulsively decided to take advantage of her long absence, leading Steve upstairs to stand at the foot of his bed with their jeans around their knees. It was a good thing they were the only ones in the house, because Steve found it hard to keep his moans from rising steadily in both pitch and volume when Billy bent him over, gripped his hips, and gave it to him fast and hard from behind.

The third and fourth occasions were when they returned to the cabin the previous weekend. By then, Billy’s confidence in the bedroom had doubled; he was quickly learning what Steve liked and what he didn’t. They made love that Saturday, and then on Sunday morning Billy coaxed him into trying the 69 position. Steve balked in embarrassment at first, but ended up enjoying the sensation of Billy’s talented tongue in his ass so much that he came, and a few moments after that, while he was still trembling and weak in the knees, Billy put on a condom and made him come again.

Warmth crept up Billy's neck at the racy memories, and he looked up sharply from his daydream when he heard Steve’s returning footsteps.

“Hey,” Steve said from the kitchen doorway, signaling that he was ready to leave. "Let’s get outta here."

Billy wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he thought Steve looked a little uncomfortable, and wondered if he had an upset stomach or something; his cheeks were slightly flushed and he seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

As they headed to the front door to get their jackets, Billy reached out to touch his shoulder. “You feeling okay, Steve?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he replied a little too quickly as he retrieved the plaid Burberry umbrella he’d left dripping by the front door a couple hours earlier.

Mrs. Harrington soon appeared in the foyer to see them out; she had overheard Billy, and tsked with motherly concern as she tried to rest her hand on Steve’s forehead. “You do look a little feverish, honey… make sure you bundle up nice and warm if you insist on going out in this downpour.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Steve scoffed dismissively, ducking away from her outstretched hand and pulling open the front door; he stepped out into the pouring rain and opened the umbrella, gesturing for Billy to get under it with him. “C’mon.”

“Please drive safely, Billy!” Steve’s mother called after them from inside the doorway, her voice barely audible beneath the loud patter of rain. “And happy birthday!”

The pair walked awkwardly beneath the umbrella, bumping shoulders and trying not to get soaked as they hurried down the driveway to Billy's parked Camaro.

“You sure you're okay, Steve?" 

“ _Yes_ ,” he insisted as he got in the passenger seat and folded up his wet umbrella. “Let's just go.”

Inside the car, Billy took off his rain-specked jacket and tossed it on the floor behind his seat, looking skeptically at Steve, who still seemed to be avoiding direct eye contact. 

“You don't have to stare at me; I'm _fine_.” Steve fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a cassette tape, hesitating before handing it to Billy. “I was gonna make you a mixtape for your birthday, but I wasn’t done yet, so it only has, like, six songs so far… sorry about that.”

“What’s on it?” Billy asked as he turned on the engine and popped the cassette in the tape player. “Tears For Fears? A Flock of Seagulls?”

“No,” Steve scoffed. “It’s just a bunch of old rock songs, that’s all… stuff I thought you'd like. Remember when we were talking about oldies the other day?”

Billy remembered. That was during their second visit to the cabin, when they’d sprawled on the shag carpet near the old record player, exhausted and satisfied after their naked romp in front of the crackling fireplace. He remembered how his heart had constricted when Steve rested his head on his chest, reading liner notes aloud and occasionally singing along softly to songs he recognized.

Billy turned up the volume when the first track on the tape, 'A Horse With No Name', began to play. He reached over to open the glove compartment, his forearm brushing against Steve’s knee as he rummaged inside for the half-smoked joint he remembered stashing there earlier.

“Found it,” he said triumphantly, cupping his hands around the end as he lit it with his Zippo. He took a long drag and passed it to Steve, who pinched it daintily between his thumb and index finger. “Hope you don’t mind a little hotboxing… can’t open the windows in this damn monsoon, obviously.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Steve said quietly, smoke escaping his lips and clouding around his head. He watched the raindrops rolling down his window as he took another long puff, then handed the joint back to Billy.

_Why does he seem so weird?_

“You in some kind of hurry, or something?” Billy asked as he switched his windshield wipers to the highest setting and drove slowly through Loch Nora; it was raining hard enough to make it difficult to see the road clearly.

Steve squirmed in his seat and pulled off his jacket. “You could say that, yeah.”

“What do you mean?” Puzzled, Billy took a last puff on the joint and passed it to him. “Here, you can finish it.”

When he brought the Camaro to a halt at a stop sign, he flinched in surprise at the unexpected sensation of Steve’s hand rubbing the front of his jeans.

_“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name, it felt good to get out of the rain…”_

He felt himself stiffening beneath Steve’s warm, insistent fingers and chuckled hoarsely. “If you don’t knock it off, pretty boy,I’m gonna pull over and make you sorry.”

Steve leaned back against the headrest and looked over at him with dark, smoldering eyes; he licked his lips and spoke in a soft, seductive murmur. “How sorry?”

_Holy fuck, he's too sexy._

Billy promptly pulled over in front of a large house surrounded by tall hedges and turned off the engine; he left the battery running, so they could keep listening to the music. Sheets of rain poured down the windows as though they were driving through a car wash. 

Steve took a final drag on what remained of the joint and stubbed it out in the car ashtray. His seat creaked as he leaned over for a smoky kiss, reaching up to hold Billy’s face in his hands; his cold fingertips dug into the stubbly skin of Billy's jaw as he pulled him nearer.

“Mmm… what’s gotten into you, babe?” Billy asked between kisses, relishing the soft, eager press of Steve’s lips and trying to shift closer; at times like these, he wished the Camaro had a roomy bench seat in front like the old Mercury Montego his mother used to drive. “Not that I mind…”

“What do you think, birthday boy?” Steve chuckled quietly against Billy’s mouth, his breath hot and ticklish. “I’m, uh… improvising.”

He pulled away long enough to bend down and quickly tug off his damp Nikes, then looked back over at Billy with a seductive little smile; without breaking eye contact, he slowly unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his chinos.

_Whoa, what?_

Steve lifted his hips off the seat and shimmied out of his pants, his movements clumsy in the cramped confines of the Camaro.

_Holy fuck, I think he's serious..._

Billy’s mouth went dry as he watched Steve strip to just his sweater and argyle socks; he swallowed thickly when Steve crawled towards him, clambering awkwardly over the center console and cursing under his breath when he smacked his ankle on the gear stick.

_ I was thinking maybe he'd give me a birthday blowjob, but not this... _

In a hasty attempt to provide a little more room for the long-legged, half-naked boy currently climbing onto his lap, Billy clamped his thighs together and fumbled for the lever that made the driver’s seat slide back a few inches. The leather upholstery creaked beneath Steve’s weight as he clumsily knelt on the seat, straddling Billy and smiling down shyly at him; he was tall enough that the top of his head bumped against the roof of the car, rumpling his voluminous hair.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Billy answered in a low growl as his hands moved under Steve’s soft sweater and undershirt, impatiently tugging the layers of cashmere and cotton high enough so he could plant kisses all over his abdomen and lick those tempting little nipples.

Breathing harder, Steve’s hands moved between their bodies as he hastily unbuttoned Billy’s shirt and skimmed his hands over his torso and down to his jeans, which he unzipped and tugged lower on his hips. Free at last, Billy’s dick sprang up stiffly from the opening in his underwear, completely erect and ready for Steve.

On each of the four occasions they had been intimate together, Billy had been very careful about wearing a condom; this time, though, Steve stilled his hands when he started fumbling in his wallet for a Trojan.

“Let’s skip it today,” he murmured quietly as their eyes locked.  

Billy dropped his wallet in surprise. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Steve chewed his bottom lip and nodded. The lean muscles of his thighs tensed as he hovered half a foot above Billy, tantalizingly close. “You, uh… you’ve never done it with other guys before, right?”

“Just you, babe, you know that,” Billy answered, immediately understanding the dark, unspoken implication behind the simple question. “I’m clean… but I don’t mind putting on a rubber.”

_I just figured that's what he wanted... we never really talked about it._

“It’s your birthday, though,” Steve pointed out, turning his head briefly to glance at the headlights of a passing car, which were blurred and barely visible through the rain-spattered window. “And, um… to be honest, I've also been kinda curious about it, so… you know.”

_Christ, he’s so cute._

Billy licked his lips and swallowed the lump in his throat, entirely at a loss for words. The car was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing, the rain hammering on the roof, and the opening electric guitar notes of ‘Gimme Shelter' playing from the stereo.

“So anyway, I, um… got myself ready just before we left.” Steve reached down awkwardly between them to grip the base of Billy’s cock, tilting it so that it brushed lightly between the cheeks of his ass. “See?”

Billy saw. His eyes widened and his dick stiffened when he discovered that Steve was already pretty relaxed, his entrance slick and twitching with Vaseline and anticipation.

_So that’s what he was doing in the bathroom for so long…_

“Oh my god, Steve,” he whispered huskily, slouching lower in his seat and bucking his hips instinctively to get closer. “You're driving me crazy, y'know that?”

Steve lowered his head to rest on Billy’s shoulder, murmuring "Happy birthday, Billy" against his neck and trembling as he sat down carefully on his cock.

“Oh, my god,” Billy groaned when he felt the tight, wet heat closing around him. It was so different without a condom; he could feel _everything_. “That's... fuck, that’s good.”

Steve squeezed his arms around Billy’s shoulders, breathing shakily. “Y-yeah, I can... f-feel you more.”

It was almost unbearably exquisite, and Billy willed himself not to explode too soon. He gripped Steve’s hips tightly with both hands and pushed him down further, then lifted him up again, gradually building a rhythm and increasing their tempo.

_“Ooh, a storm is threatening my very life today… If I don’t get some shelter… I’m gonna fade away.”_

Steve clutched Billy’s broad, well-muscled shoulder with one hand and reached out with the other to brace himself against the cold, fogged window; he arched his back and let out a whiny moan with each upward punch of Billy’s hips. His head bumped rhythmically against the top of the Camaro, further rumpling his already disheveled mop of thick hair. At one point, Steve leaned back far enough to press the steering wheel a little too hard, accidentally honking the horn and startling them both.

_Beeeeep!_

“Jesus, can you keep it down?” Billy chuckled breathlessly against his warm throat, growing even harder when he felt Steve’s muscles tense around him, squeezing him like a boa constrictor; it took a minute of gentle, shallow thrusts and tender kisses for Billy to get him completely relaxed again, after the mishap with the horn.

Billy glanced down at Steve’s hard dick, which bobbed stiffly between them; it was dim in the car, but he could still see a drop of come glinting on the tip, hinting that he was getting very close to a climax.

“Feeling good, babe?” Billy asked as he dragged his thumb over the tip of Steve's dick in a slow, circular motion.

A few moments later, Steve answered by tilting his head back and groaning as he filled Billy's fist with sticky, warm ejaculate.

“Already?” Billy teased, smiling up at the boy panting on his lap. "Must be 'cause you got a head start back at the house..."

Steve burrowed his face against his neck and shivered; Billy was still nestled deep inside him. "K-keep going... don't stop."

“Steve… Steve…” Billy repeated his name softly in his ear, chanting it like a prayer with each carefully positioned thrust. "You're so good, Steve..."

‘The Chain’ by Fleetwood Mac began to play, and Billy wondered if Steve had selected such moody, sexy songs deliberately; it wasn’t a birthday mix so much as a love-making mix.

“I’m gonna come, get up,” he whispered when he felt the telltale tingling sensation, patting Steve’s bottom to get his attention.

"Nn-nn..." Steve shook his head stubbornly and tightened his grip on Billy's shoulders.

“Steve, I-I’m gonna come,” Billy repeated more urgently, feeling the familiar effervescent euphoria building deep within his body.

“Go ahead.” Steve drew back just enough to gaze down at him with warm, willing eyes. “Looks like I’m spoiling you today.”

_Holy fuck, he's gonna be the death of me._

Billy wrapped his arms tightly around him, enveloping him in a hug and moaning his name as he came in a hot rush; the novel sensation of climaxing inside Steve was even better than he expected.

They both sat still for several moments, coasting on the blissful high until Steve rose shakily off Billy’s cock with a wet _shlup_ , wincing self-consciously at the pornographic sound.

In the dim light that filtered through the fogged windows, Billy could see thin, milky rivulets of his own seed dribbling down the insides of Steve’s hairy thighs.

 _Wow..._  

Steve looked down at Billy's cock. “You’re still hard… you wanna go again?”

Billy trailed his fingers along the smooth cheeks of Steve’s ass and nodded; the sight of his sticky inner thighs was intensely arousing. “I’m up for it if you are… you sure you’re not too sore yet?”

“Yeah, I’m okay… but I was getting a charley horse, sitting up here in the driver's seat,” Steve mumbled as he climbed clumsily over Billy and into the back of the car. “C’mon over here, maybe we’ll have a little more room…”

Billy was so turned on, he barely noticed when he bumped his knee painfully on his way to join Steve in the back of the car. He felt as though every blood vessel in his body rushed to his dick at the sight of Steve crouched on the backseat, wearing nothing but his green sweater and argyle socks. His lithe, pale body was rosy in the places where Billy had suckled and squeezed.

The seat creaked beneath their combined weight when Billy knelt behind him and shoved up his sweater so he could cover his exposed back in kisses; he dragged his lips down his spine towards the two irresistible dimples on the back of his hips. Once upon a time, Billy could only see them in his daydreams, or when he was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Steve bending over with his shirt untucked; it was incredible to be able to see them from this vantage point, to be able to feel his smooth, warm skin erupting in goosebumps at the touch of Billy's hungry mouth. 

They exhaled in unison when Billy gripped Steve’s hips firmly and nudged himself back inside; Steve was so slippery and relaxed that he was able to bury himself to the hilt with just two good, long strokes.

“Fuck, Stevie,” he sighed with satisfaction. “You’re so wet…”

Billy had never been so glad that it was raining in his entire life; without the torrential downpour, their vehicular afternoon delight would be difficult to conceal, given the extremely fogged windows and the way the Camaro was rocking back and forth. 

Steve moaned through gritted teeth, supporting himself with one hand while using the other to rapidly rub his dick. His moans soon devolved into whimpers and whines, and his arm eventually wobbled and gave out; collapsing onto on the backseat, he rested his face wearily against the leather upholstery and just panted the sound "ah" over and over again.

Feeling like he might come again soon, Billy pulled out and rolled Steve onto his back, holding his long legs up by the ankles and slipping inside again. He bit his lip in concentration as he dipped his dick in just deep enough to rub against Steve’s tender spot; he gazed down at him, desperately wanting to say the three words that had eluded him for what felt like forever.

“Steve, I love…” He got lost in his beautiful brown eyes and lost his nerve. “I… I love the way you feel.”

_Damnit, that’s not what I meant to say… why am I such a coward around him?_

Something in Steve's eyes changed; it was subtle, but just enough to make Billy wonder if he'd understood him, after all. He looked up at Billy with his lips parted, panting out a hitched moan with each carefully measured thrust. Some of his hair was stuck to the sweat on his temples, and the rest tumbled wildly around his head on the dark leather seat.

A minute later, Billy’s mind went blank as a shudder rolled down his spine; he leaned down onto Steve, shaking as his orgasm ripped through him.

“God, Stevie…” he groaned as he came deep inside the breathless boy pinned beneath him. His face was just a few inches above Steve’s, and he leaned down to close the gap, kissing him deeply and gently suckling his trembling bottom lip.

Steve whined in protest beneath him because the muscles in his legs were being stretched to their limit; he was practically folded in half, with his sock-clad feet above their heads and his toes bumping against the car window.

“Billy,” he murmured between kisses, tapping him lightly. “Billy… you’re kind of heavy.”

“Okay, got it,” Billy mumbled, sighing with satisfaction as he dismounted; they both twitched when he withdrew his cock.

It was lucky that Steve’s sweater had been hiked up around his armpits, because his own come was smeared across his stomach. He watched wordlessly as Billy bent down and licked him clean, then he rose shakily to his knees and glanced at the come leaking down the inside of his thighs. “Oh, damn, I’m sorry… we’re gonna make a mess on your seats.”

“Worth it,” Billy sighed contentedly, leaning back and waiting for his heart to stop racing. “So… totally… worth it.”

He tucked his cock back into his underwear without really bothering to clean up; they were on their way to his house, after all, so he figured he could freshen up there.

Steve wiped some of the sticky mess from his thigh, holding his fingers up and looking at them with mingled fascination and disgust. “Do you have any paper napkins, or…?”

_Oh, I’ve got something better than that._

Billy shoved him back down on the seat and licked away every sticky drop, ignoring Steve’s protests and paying careful attention to his ass, which was tender and extra sensitive after their recent exertions.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” Steve mumbled, though he was twitching like he enjoyed it. “It’s your birthday, not mine.”

When Billy noticed Steve getting hard again, he shifted his attention to his dick, stroking it insistently and touching it exactly the way he liked to touch his own.

“Jesus, Billy… fuck…” Steve groaned weakly. “Stop, it’s too much…”

“But you’re gonna come soon.” Billy glanced up to meet his eyes as he fit the head of Steve’s cock between his lips.

“N-no more, I can’t… I’m gonna pass out.”

_Oh, don't be so dramatic._

Billy couldn't talk very well with a penis in his mouth, so he just rolled his eyes and sucked harder.

When Steve finally came for the third time, he squeezed his eyes shut and breathed Billy’s name; he was so drained that he came without ejaculating and collapsed like a rag doll on the seat, panting and sweating as though he had just finished a marathon.

Billy felt tired but wonderfully satisfied as he pulled his jeans back up and buckled his belt. He had aches in muscles he didn’t even know he had, particularly in his hips.

“God, that was good.” He buttoned his shirt back up and leaned down to kiss Steve appreciatively. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Steve murmured quietly, giving his hand a weak squeeze. "Happy birthday, Billy."

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, just… catching my breath.” 

“Are you hungry?" Billy asked as he reached into the front seat to retrieve Steve’s clothes. "Still want some cake?"

Steve meekly lifted up first one foot, and then the other as Billy helped him put his underwear and pants back on. "Yeah... I could go for some birthday cake."

...........................

Ten minutes later, they were on Old Cherry Road, parked outside the Hargrove residence. As they walked up the front steps, Billy noticed that Steve was moving with a slightly odd, faltering gait.

“Why are you walking like that?” He asked, leaning over and lowering his voice. “Did I overdo it?”

“No,” Steve said quickly as they stepped onto the porch; he looked down and scuffed his wet sneakers on the doormat. “I mean, yeah, it was pretty intense, but there’s, uh…”

“What?”

“It’s just… look, would you mind loaning me a clean pair of underwear? Please don’t ask why.”

Realization dawned slowly on Billy’s face and a knowing smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

“Holy shit…” he said quietly as he stepped closer. “This is the birthday gift that just keeps giving, huh?”

Steve just stood there awkwardly, biting his bottom lip the way he often did when he was feeling self-conscious.

Billy leaned over to whisper in his ear, his voice low and lascivious. “I really filled you up, didn’t I?”

“Jesus, keep it down!” Steve hissed, his eyes widening as he glanced around nervously. “This is your fault.”

“I can live with that.” Billy wiped his feet on the doormat and stepped inside, glancing over his shoulder and winking at him. “We had fun, though, didn't we?”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted grudgingly as he followed him through the doorway and shut the door behind them.

Billy shrugged off his wet jacket and tossed it onto the couch, pausing to take a deep breath; the house was warm and filled with the inviting smell of lasagna.

He nudged Steve and pointed towards the hallway. “Go to my room and look in the top dresser drawer; that’s where I keep what you’re looking for. Change in there, or use the bathroom. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” Steve mumbled as he quickly disappeared down the hall.

Sniffing the air appreciatively, Billy walked through the house towards the kitchen to say hello to Susan, but stopped in his tracks when he heard a jarringly familiar, masculine voice.

_Oh, no._

“Why, hello Billy,” Susan said with a bright smile when he poked his head around the kitchen doorway; she was smoothing chocolate frosting on a layer cake. “Did you just get home?”

Billy barely heard her; he was too distracted by the man standing at her side. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he instinctively balled his hands into fists.

“Look who came to surprise you on your special day,” Susan went on with forced cheerfulness, glancing uneasily between the two.

“Hello, Billy.” Neil greeted him with a bland smile that didn’t reach his cold blue eyes. He was leaning against the kitchen counter and holding a can of ginger ale. “Looks like your hair's gotten longer. How are you, birthday boy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Billy said flatly, inwardly seething at the mention of his hair. “I’m eighteen, now.”

“Alright… birthday _man_.” Neil chuckled dryly as he reached in his pocket and withdrew a small package wrapped neatly in blue paper. “I got you something.”

Billy took it without a word of thanks and shoved it in his pocket, resisting the urge to throw it in the kitchen trash can. “Why are you here?”

“Can’t a father come home to wish his only son a happy birthday?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Billy!” Susan said sharply as she finished frosting the cake. “Can you please make an effort to be civil tonight?”

Billy glared at her, feeling frustrated and betrayed, wondering why she would even let him back into the house. He couldn't believe she was just decorating a cake and gabbing with her husband like some happy housewife, as though nothing was wrong and he'd never made her cry.

“Susan,” Billy began imploringly, turning his attention away from Neil. “He’s… he’s not staying, is he? He just came over today 'cause of my birthday or whatever and that’s gonna be it, right?”

He felt nauseous at the thought of him slithering his way back into Susan’s good graces, appealing to her forgiving nature and taking advantage of her loneliness.

“Oh, Billy,” Susan said distractedly, frowning in concentration as she wiped a stray smear of chocolate frosting from the glass cake stand. “We can discuss the possibilities later, okay?”

_Wait, what possibilities? The possibility of him coming back? Jesus, I hope not._

She set a large glass dome over the cake and pulled off her apron. “I'd like us to have a nice evening tonight, as a family… something we haven’t done in far too long. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

"It sure isn't," Neil said quietly, draining his can of ginger ale. "I've missed our family meals, too, Susan."

Billy flinched away when Neil stepped towards him and tried to rest a hand on his shoulder; when he glanced over at Susan, she only raised an eyebrow at him as though to say “Behave yourself, young man.”

_Goddamnit, Susan…_

He didn’t want to be angry with her, but she had sorely disappointed him. Billy still remembered all the things she had confided in him about Neil getting upset with her about not wanting any more kids, and how he had embarrassed her in front of her family back in California.

_I finally got rid of the bastard and you let him right back in._

“Susan,” Billy tried again, despising the cold, helpless feeling spreading through him. “What… what about the things you said about—"

“Nevermind what I said,” Susan cut him off smoothly, her cheeks turning pink and her eyes flicking over to her husband; there would always be a part of her that was afraid of angering him. “Forgiveness is a virtue, you know, and nobody’s perfect…”

She kept talking, but Billy tuned her out. In that moment, he was reminded of the time in November when she had just stood in his bedroom doorway, watching as Neil called him a faggot, shoved him against some shelves, hit him, and snarled in his face about respect and responsibility. She watched, and winced… and ultimately did nothing, because she didn’t want to upset Neil further.

“Are you listening to me, dear?”

Billy hadn’t been listening at all, but he nodded glumly anyway, keenly aware of the dangerously placid man standing a foot away from him.

“Anyway, before you got home, your father was telling me all about the program he’s enrolled himself in. Tell him, honey.”

Billy scowled. “Jesus, I don't care—”

“That’s enough, now.” Neil Hargrove cleared his throat and raised a hand for silence. “As Susan pointed out, nobody’s perfect, and… well, I’ve had plenty of time to think about my mistakes. I joined a program last month that’s been very helpful, and I’ve been attending church services every week, too.”

_Oh, great… so you’re gonna be a pious asshole now._

“It would be nice to go to church as a family, Billy, don’t you think?” Susan smiled as she carefully pulled a bubbling pan of lasagna from the oven. "Your father wants us all to go with him on Sunday."

_No, no, no, that is definitely not happening._

“Mmm, that smells delicious, Susie,” Neil said, rubbing his stomach appreciatively. “I sure have missed your home-cooked meals.”

“Why, thank you, honey. I made it with ground sirloin, just the way you like it.”

_Ugh, look at them… so fucking gross. I’ve gotta get the hell out of here._

Billy suddenly remembered Steve and swallowed hard, trying not to be afraid. There was no way of knowing how this strange, new version of Neil Hargrove would react to finding Steve in his house.

“Where is Maxine, anyway?” Neil asked curiously, glancing at his watch and deliberately ignoring the angry scowl twitching at the corner of Billy’s mouth. “She should be here for dinner, and I’m sure she’ll want a slice of her brother’s birthday cake.”

Susan sighed as she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a large bowl of salad. “She’s been working on a diorama for her history class all afternoon… she has to present it tomorrow, and she wants it to be perfect, of course. I'll go tell her to get ready for supper.”

She bustled out of the kitchen, leaving her husband and stepson alone in the kitchen. It was eerily quiet; the only sounds were the ticking of the clock on the wall and the patter of rain on the roof.

_Maybe she'll run into Steve in the hallway; that would be awkward._

"So..." Billy balled his hands into fists and shoved them in his pockets, trying unsuccessfully to keep his anger bottled up. “I guess you conveniently forgot about how I said I’d tell Susan and Chief Hopper everything if you ever came back, huh Neil?”

The older man’s jaw tightened and he looked sharply at his son. “I’d really prefer it if you didn’t call me that.”

“Well, I’d really prefer it if you didn’t call me a faggot, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Neil shook his head and sighed heavily, looking annoyed but not angry. “I’m a different man, Billy… you’ll see that for yourself, if you cut me a little slack and let us be a family again. I won’t call you that anymore, so there’s no need to tell anyone anything.”

“Different, huh?” Billy snorted with disbelief, tapping the side of his nose. “What about the, uh… booger sugar?”

“Keep your voice down,” Neil hissed sharply, glancing at the kitchen doorway as though Susan might be eavesdropping. “No, I quit all that nonsense, cold-turkey. You have my word.”

“Really?” Billy scoffed skeptically. “And what about that picture you stole?”

Neil's jaw tightened and he cleared his throat. “If I knew what you were referring to, which I _don’t_ … I’d have thrown it away, along with everything else.”

_I'll never know if he's lying or not, but even if he really did get rid of it, he's still scum._

“Quit drinking, too,” Neil continued, pointing at the empty can of ginger ale on the counter as though it absolved him of every sin he’d ever committed. “The body is a temple, son.”

_I've gotta get out of here before I smack him..._

Susan came back to the kitchen and went to a cabinet to get out a stack of dinner plates. “She says she’ll be done in half an hour… her diorama looks great, Neil, I’ll make sure she shows it to you after supper. Billy, honey, where are you sneaking off to?”

Billy froze in the kitchen doorway and chuckled nervously, trying to act casual. “I, uh… I’ve gotta go, actually.”

"But you just got here."

“Yeah, well, there’s something I’ve gotta do, so…”

“When will you be back?” Susan asked, looking disappointed.

“I dunno…” Billy looked over at Neil, who stared back at him suspiciously. “Whenever it's a little less... _crowded_ around here, I guess.”

“Oh, Billy,” Susan sighed as she opened the silverware drawer and began pulling out knives and forks for four. “I know you and your father have had your ups and downs, but-"

“I’ll handle this, sweetheart," Neil cut her off smoothly, speaking over his shoulder as he followed Billy into the front room. “We just need a minute alone to talk, man-to-man.”

_The hell we do, you stupid old shithead._

“I’d honestly rather be left alone right now, if it’s all the same to you,” Billy muttered, wondering if there was anything he could say or do to make Neil leave permanently; at the very least, he wanted him to go back to flirting with Susan in the kitchen so he could sneak Steve out to the car unnoticed.

Neil paused next to the green fireplace and gave Billy a long, scrutinizing look. “Where are you off to in such a hurry? I hope you’re not leaving on my account.”

“Why else?”

_Just fuck off, for the love of god…_

“I know we didn’t part ways on the best of terms, but that was a long time ago, Billy.”

“Not nearly long enough,” he muttered sulkily, crossing his arms and standing near the doorway that opened to the hall.

 _Can Steve hear us from my room?_

“You know, you really ought to consider going to church with us sometime… who knows, you might even meet a nice girl.”

“I don’t wanna ‘meet a nice girl’ and you know it," Billy retorted, unsure if Neil was deliberately trying to provoke him, or if he really was that dense.

“Well, you might surprise yourself… a pretty young woman with a good church background could be just the thing you need to straighten up your act.”

_How straight is your act, huh? Fucking hypocrite…_

Billy heard a throat being cleared behind him and turned around quickly.

“Hey, Billy,” Steve said quietly, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. “Everything okay?”

Neil Hargrove’s eyes widened with surprise when Steve appeared in the doorway behind Billy; he suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “Where the hell did _he_ come from?”

Bristling with barely-constrained anger, Billy stepped closer to his boyfriend. “I invited him, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Hey,” Steve murmured under his breath, gently nudging Billy with his elbow. “Let’s just go, okay?”

“It was, uh… Steven, wasn’t it?” Neil seemed to have recovered from his initial shock, and his lips twitched up into a thin smile as he eyed Steve up and down in a way that made Billy cringe and see red. “Been taking care of yourself, I hope.”

_I wanna kill this fucking creep._

“Don’t talk to him,” Billy said in a low, dangerous voice, crossing his arms as he stepped protectively in front of Steve.

Neil smirked and held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, tough guy… you can drop the little bodyguard act; it’s awfully cute, but unnecessary.”

_He doesn’t really seem high, and he can’t exactly beat us up or… or molest Steve when Susan’s in the kitchen and Max is down the hall…_

“Let’s just go, Billy,” Steve repeated, reaching out to tug insistently on the crook of his arm.

Neil’s shrewd eyes locked onto Steve’s fingers grasping Billy’s elbow and he let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “So that’s how it is, hmm?”

Steve quickly pulled his hand away, but Billy reached down and clasped it tightly in his own clammy palm.

_ Don't hide. Don't give him the satisfaction. _

“Yeah,” he answered quietly, forcing himself to meet his father’s cold, judgemental eyes. “That’s how it is.”

Neil wrinkled his nose like there was a foul stench in the room and glared at Billy as though he was the source. “ _Christ_ , you’re so stupid, boy.”

“No, he isn’t,” Steve said suddenly, stepping forward to face Neil.

Billy squeezed his hand again. “Steve, don’t bother. It’s okay.”

Even though he seriously doubted his father would do anything drastic with Susan and Max home, there was still a hard lump of fear in his stomach; he could feel it weighing him down like a malignant tumor.

Steve looked his opponent directly in the eye and repeated himself. “He’s _not_ stupid.”

“I’ll call my own son anything I want, thank you very much,” Neil said stiffly, clearly unused to being challenged. “He _is_ stupid, and—”

“Quit saying that!” Steve retorted angrily, standing up straighter; even at his full height of five-eleven, he was still an inch shorter than Neil. “Billy is the smartest person I’ve ever—”

“It’s fine, Steve,” Billy mumbled, growing self-conscious; he appreciated Steve’s defense of his intellect, but knew it was completely pointless as far as Neil was concerned. “It’s not worth it… let’s just get outta here.”

“What’s twenty-seven squared?” Steve demanded suddenly.

Billy’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why…?”

Steve tsked impatiently. “Just answer!”

“Uh…” Billy’s brain automatically tallied up the numbers; math had always come easily to him. “Seven hundred and twenty-nine.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Neil snickered cruelly, rolling his eyes as he leaned against the mantlepiece. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“What’s the capital of Uruguay?” Steve asked, ignoring Neil and looking at Billy with wide, determined brown eyes.

_Asunción? No, that’s Paraguay._

“Montevideo,” Billy answered after only a moment’s hesitation.

“What on God’s earth is your point?” Neil tapped his temple with his index finger as he stepped closer to Billy. “I know all about his clever little brain… but there’s something wrong with it, just the same. Something broken in there, or he wouldn’t be this… _unwholesome_.”

Billy blinked away the hot, angry tears burning in his eyes; he was so upset he momentarily forgot to call Neil by his first name. “Dad, just—”

“Leviticus twenty-thirteen, son,” he cut him off sharply, stopping a foot away from Billy and looking directly into his eyes. “If a man lies down with a man as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination and—”

“…shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.” Billy finished his father’s sentence, though he couldn’t keep his voice from quavering at the end. He squeezed his eyes shut and let go of Steve’s hand to furiously rub a tear away with his fist.

When he opened his eyes again, they landed on the large glass container of seashells above the fireplace, and he fought a sudden, powerful urge to pick it it up and break it over his father’s head. He could almost imagine the sound it might make on his thick skull and the way the seashells and bloodied shards of glass would scatter across the floor.

Neil’s odious voice cut through his malevolent reverie. “If you know your scripture so well, why don’t you come to church with us on Sunday?”

Billy smirked and rolled his eyes, hoping they weren’t too red and teary; he didn’t want to show any sign of weakness in front of his nemesis. “What, come with you and hang out with a bunch of Jesus freaks who think I should be put to death? Sounds super fun, but I’m gonna take a hard pass, just the same.”

Suddenly remembering the tiny, wrapped gift Neil had given him a few minutes earlier, he dug it out of the pocket of his jeans and flung it dramatically into the fireplace, wishing there was actually a fire going so it would be burnt to a crisp.

“Goddamnit, boy,” Neil snarled, looking like he was struggling to rein in his anger. “You’re stubborn and broken, and you’ll never be fixed if you don’t put in any effort to change… you’re my only son, for god’s sake. My flesh and blood! The Bible says I oughtta love you, but you make it pretty damn difficult.”

“So don’t.”

Billy and Neil both turned and looked at Steve with surprise, as though they'd momentarily forgotten that he was there, too.

_Wait, what?_

Neil stiffened and clenched his fists, glaring resentfully at Steve. “I was addressing my son, not you, and I don’t appreciate—”

“If it’s too hard for you to love him, don’t sweat it.” Steve reached over to take Billy’s hand again, gripping it confidently as he took a deep, fortifying breath. “Because _I_ love him, and if you think that makes us broken abominations or whatever, well… with all due respect, sir, you can go blow yourself.”

The two Hargrove men both stared at Steve with their mouths agape, stunned by his unexpected outburst.

_He… wait, did he just say…_

“C’mon, Billy,” Steve muttered, tugging on his hand and nodding towards the front door. “Let’s go."

Neil quickly regained his composure, though his face was red with rage; he pointed a shaking, accusatory finger at Steve. “What the _hell_ did you just say to me, you goddamn—”

Steve slapped Neil’s hand away like it was an annoying fly. “Get your stupid old finger outta my face, dude.”

Billy had never admired Steve as much as he did that evening: beautifully brave, even when facing the man who once pinned him down and left bruises on his neck.

“Let’s go, Billy,” he said again, brushing past Neil on his way towards the door.

“Y-you can’t speak to me like that,” Neil spluttered, looking furious enough to charge after him like an enraged bull. “I want you out of my house, now.”

“Relax, we’re leaving.” Steve picked up the jacket Billy had tossed on the couch when they arrived and tossed it to him.

“Is everything okay in here?” Susan appeared suddenly in the doorway, looking around the tense, silent room with concern. “I thought I heard raised voices… what on earth is going on?”

Neil’s jaw tensed as he turned to look at his wife. “Everything’s fine, sweetheart… why don’t you go back to the dining room? We’ll be there in just a minute.”

“Oh, when did you get here, Steven?” Susan asked brightly, ignoring her husband and smiling at Steve. “Are you staying for supper?”

Steve managed to smile back politely as though nothing was wrong. “Not tonight, Mrs. Hargrove, but thanks anyway… maybe I’ll take a rain check.”

“Sorry, Susan,” Billy said flatly as he zipped up his jacket. “But there's no way we're staying.”

Susan’s smile faded. “Not even for a slice of cake?”

Neil reached over to pat her shoulder reassuringly; in her presence, his expression had suddenly become perfectly placid and betrayed none of his seething rage. “Billy’s just going to take Steven home, then he’ll come back to have some of the chocolate cake you worked so hard to make for him. Isn’t that right, son?”

“I don’t want any goddamn cake!” He didn't care if he hurt Susan’s feelings; as far as he was concerned, she was a traitor and a lovesick fool. He turned to Steve and jerked his chin towards the door. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

They left before Neil had a chance to say anything else, slamming the front door behind them and hurrying down the front walkway as though they half-expected him to come running after them. The rain had slowed to a sparse drizzle, so they didn’t get very wet on their way back to Billy’s Camaro. Once inside, they sat there in silence for a few moments, just breathing and staring straight ahead at the raindrops dotting the windshield; the car smelled like smoke and sex.

Billy turned on the ignition and headlights; it was already past five o’clock, and the sun was setting behind the trees. The mixtape picked up where it had left off, but he barely noticed the music. He couldn’t think clearly, because his head was filled with an endless loop of Steve’s voice saying he loved him, over and over.

_Did he really say that, or have I finally gone crazy?_

Steve lit a cigarette with trembling fingers and took a long, soothing drag. He rolled down his window as they left Old Cherry Road behind, and the gentle breeze fluffed his long, thick hair; the chilly air blowing through the car had that wonderfully clean, fresh smell that always followed rain.

“So, uh… where to?” Billy finally asked, meeting Steve’s eye in the rearview mirror. “You wanna go see a movie or something?”

Steve passed his lit cigarette to Billy but didn’t answer immediately; he seemed deep in thought, almost as though he wasn’t even listening.

“If you’d rather just get dropped off at your house, that’s cool, too,” Billy continued uncertainly between puffs on the Marlboro. “After that crazy shitshow back there, I wouldn’t blame you if you just wanted to go home and—”

“How about Chicago?” Steve said suddenly, looking over at him with dark, inscrutable eyes.

“Sure, why not?” Billy laughed, assuming that he was kidding. “But seriously, I meant around here… the new 'Friday the 13th' movie doesn’t come out ’til tomorrow, but there might be something else you want to—”

“I _am_ serious,” Steve interrupted again. “Let’s just fucking _go_ … let’s get out of here, together.”

Billy pulled up to a red light and turned his head to stare blankly at Steve, his overwhelmed mind trying to keep pace. “What, now? On a Thursday, at five o’clock?”

“We don’t have any exams tomorrow, do we?”

“No…”

“And we’re both eighteen, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Right, so let’s go have a long, fun weekend in the Windy City, and come back on Sunday night. What do you say?”

Billy hastily tapped off the long column of ash accumulating on the end of his lit cigarette before it could fall on his jeans, and passed it to Steve. “Wait, you’re... you're really serious?”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled as he raised the Marlboro to his lips; there was a lively, adventurous glint in his eyes. “How many times do I have to say it? I’m seriously serious.”

A car behind them honked loudly to indicate that the light had turned green. Billy stepped on the gas, still deep in thought as he considered the soundness of Steve’s spontaneous plan.

_I don’t have any of my stuff, and there’s no way in hell I’m going back home while that shithead is still haunting the place._

“I won’t have any clean clothes to wear, though…”

"If you don't want to go, just say so."

"No, no, I do."

Steve held his cigarette between two fingers and pointed it at the windshield. “Alright, so stop by my house first, and I’ll grab some stuff for us both… you’re basically my size, right?”

Billy snorted with amusement at the thought of squeezing his muscular frame into a pair of Steve’s slim-cut Brooks Brothers chinos and a striped pastel polo shirt.

“…anyway, the bank’s probably closed at this hour, but I’ve got at least a hundred bucks stashed away for emergencies, and a credit card, too. We’ll go fill up your gas tank and get the hell out of Hawkins for a couple days. Is it okay if you miss your anger management class on Saturday?”

Billy shrugged indifferently; he hadn’t even considered that. “Sure, missing one day won’t hurt.”

He drove faster, zooming down Main Street and making a beeline for Loch Nora. He was getting excited about their half-baked plan, but also hadn’t forgotten what transpired in his house less than ten minutes earlier. “I’m so sorry about all that bullshit my old man was spouting…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said so quietly it was difficult to hear him over the music and the wind whipping noisily though the window. “You didn’t know he was gonna be there.”

“I can’t believe Susan just let him waltz in like that, like he fuckin’ owns the place,” Billy fumed as he blew past a stop sign.

“What was she supposed to do? He probably _does_ own the place, and unless he’s... I dunno, _hitting_ her or something, she doesn’t really have a reason to call Hopper to have him dragged off.”

A part of Billy wanted to just drop the subject, but he couldn't let it go. “She seemed like she was just gonna _forgive_ him, though, even after he was such a dickhead.”

“Maybe she did forgive him,” Steve shrugged. “It’s none of my business, but she might rather have a dickhead around than nobody.”

“She’s got Max… and me.”

“Max and you aren't gonna be her husband, though. Everyone gets lonely sometimes, right?”

The words hung in the air, echoing in Billy’s mind, and when he passed the cigarette back to Steve, he brushed their hands together on purpose.

_I haven't felt lonely in a long time... thanks to this guy right here._

“By the way,” Billy said quietly when their fingers touched, struggling to keep his voice low and steady. “I… I love you, too.”

Steve smiled and covered his mouth with his hand, his ears turning pink as he turned his face away to stare out the open window. “Yeah?”

Billy nodded. “Yeah… I’ve wanted to say it for a while, but I was too chickenshit to be the one who said it first.”

“You did say it first, though,” Steve reflected pensively, exhaling a plume of cigarette smoke and watching it disappear out the window. “Maybe I dreamed it, but I remember you saying it that night at the cabin, when we were watching ‘Alien’…”

He paused, chuckling self-consciously as he reached up to run his fingers through his hair. “Or did I, uh… dream that? Maybe it was just wishful thinking…”

“No,” Billy said hastily, his mind flooding with memories of their first night at the cabin. “You didn’t dream it.”

“Well, I’ve been wanting to say it for a while, too, it’s just…” Steve bit his lip as Billy pulled up in front of the Harrington residence. “Things didn’t turn out so great the last time I said that to someone, y’know?”

“Yeah… I get that.” Billy reached over to squeeze Steve’s hand. “Better late than never.”

Steve gave Billy a long, knowing look as they entwined their fingers; he rubbed his thumb across Billy’s palm. “I’d, uh… I’d kiss you, but my mom might be looking out the window or something…”

Billy smiled and released his hand. “Go on, then.”

“Do you want to come in?”

“Nah, I’ll just stay in here and have another smoke while you get what you need,” Billy said as he tapped out a fresh cigarette.

“Okay,” Steve agreed, stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind him. “Gimme ten minutes; I’ll be right back.”

Billy leaned over to call after him through the open passenger-side window. “If you don't run into your mom in there, leave a note so she won’t worry.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Oh, and Steve?” The corner of Billy’s mouth twitched up into a mischievous smirk. “Make sure you bring the camera.”

“Why, in case we go sightseeing?”

“Sure, Steve.” Billy tried not to laugh at his endearingly clueless expression. “I want you to bring the camera so we can take pictures of Navy Pier and Wrigley Field… I was definitely _not_  thinking about taking sexy boudoir shots of you in the hotel room.”

“Jesus, Billy!” Steve hissed, his eyes darting around as if someone might be eavesdropping, even though it was getting dark and there was nobody around in the quiet, affluent neighborhood.

“What?” Billy said innocently, tilting his head to the side and grinning at the boy glaring at him from the driveway.

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes as his irritated scowl grudgingly turned into a smile; he rested one hand primly on his hip and used the other to point an accusatory finger at Billy.

“Okay, I’ll bring the Polaroid and an extra pack of film, but I’m not letting you take dirty pictures of me with my nuts hanging out, okay? Keep it… _tasteful_ , or your ass is grass. You got that, mister?”

“I got it, babe,” Billy nodded solemnly, suppressing a laugh; he loved it when Steve got prissy and bossed him around.

As he watched his lover jog up the wet driveway and disappear behind the red double doors of his massive house, ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’ began playing on Steve’s mixtape of seventies music; Billy reached over to turn up the volume.

_“…Baby take my hand, don’t fear the reaper, we’ll be able to fly…”_

He relaxed in his seat and blew a long plume of smoke out the window, staring at his reflection in the side-view mirror and thinking about how dream-like his life had become since Steve had walked into it.

_“…Don’t fear the reaper, baby I’m your man…”_

It was hard to believe that less than an hour earlier, he had been sitting in the same driver’s seat with Steve riding him and breathlessly panting his name.

_He said he loves me… he really said it. I've never had such a good birthday in my life._

It was hard to believe they were about to drive north all night, leaving Hawkins and Neil far behind and not stopping until they saw the bright city lights of Chicago reflected in the windshield of Billy’s blue Camaro.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :D
> 
> Notes:  
> -I flunked chemistry, and I got that sample problem (and answer) online.  
> -In case anyone was wondering, Max was in her room the whole time, and turned her music off when she heard raised voices emanating from the front room. She listened in on most of the conversation by the green fireplace, telling herself that she would go out there and defend her step-brother if Neil got too loud or violent. She was glad when she overheard her mother come in and interrupt the argument.


	17. Just Can't Get Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song rec: 'Chicago (Adult Contemporary Version)' by Sufjan Stevens, or whichever version is your favorite. Sadly, nobody's made a good '80s-inspired remix of the song yet.

**Friday, March 22nd, 1985**

For just a moment, Billy was very confused when he opened his eyes the morning after his eighteenth birthday and found himself in a large, unfamiliar room on a pristinely white bed with Steve Harrington curled up beside him. 

_What the hell...?_

Billy had never been in such a swanky hotel room before; on the rare family vacations of his childhood, the Hargroves had only ever stayed in unimpressive off-brand roadside motels. His family wasn’t like the Harringtons, who patronized the types of places with marble floors, bellhops, and a chandelier in the lobby.

 _We’re not in Hawkins anymore, or the cabin by the lake._

He vaguely remembered checking into the hotel around midnight, and that they were both too exhausted from the long drive to do anything more than brush their teeth and pass out together on the soft, enormous bed.

The room was heated, so despite wearing only socks and underwear, Billy wasn’t cold as he walked across the plush carpet and parted the curtains. The view was unbelievable: from twelve stories up, he could see half of Chicago as well as Lake Michigan, which was vast enough to make him a little homesick for the ocean.

_I've gotta take Steve to Cali someday..._

He turned suddenly at the faint sound of rustling sheets; Steve was rolling over in bed, sighing softly against his pillow. A bright square of sunlight slanted across the bed, framing him like a portrait; he looked so sweet and peaceful with his eyes closed, breathing quietly. The covers had slid down to his bare waist, revealing a slender, pale torso dotted with tiny brown moles. When Billy spotted the Polaroid camera peeking out of the unzipped duffel bag they had dropped on the floor the previous night, he couldn’t resist the temption to pick it up and point it at his sleeping lover.

_Say cheese, pretty boy._

The sound of the camera whirring as it took the photo was enough to make Steve stir and drowsily open his eyes.

“Billy…? What’re you doing?”

"Nothing." Billy carefully set the square of film down on the bedside table to develop. “Just, uh…”

“Just being a creep?” Steve suggested as he sat up slowly, yawning and rubbing his eyes; his thick brown hair was sticking up chaotically. “Taking pictures of me while I’m asleep, jeez…”

Billy chuckled and squinted through the viewfinder again. “So it’s fine as long as your balls aren’t in it and you’re awake? Got it.”

Steve flung a pillow across the room at him and scowled. “Get your pervy ass over here… if you insist on taking photos, you’ve gotta be in some of them, too.”

They sat on the bed together and with only a little awkward fumbling, managed to hold the camera up, aim it at themselves and take a picture.

“Alright, now put that thing away,” Steve said as he rolled off the bed and hurried over to the bathroom. “I’ve gotta pee.”

“You've got a boner,” Billy pointed out suggestively from the bed. “If you need any help with that situation, I’d be happy to hel—”

“You can _help_ by checking out the room service menu," Steve cut him off smoothly as he shut the bathroom door. "I’m starving.”

………………………

After calling room service to place an order for breakfast, Billy ended up showering with Steve; they took turns sucking each other off under the steaming hot water. When the food arrived, they spent a lazy, luxurious hour sitting cross-legged on the bed in their plush hotel bathrobes, talking between bites of bacon, omelette, and croissant and washing it all down with the best coffee Billy had ever tasted.

Still wearing their robes, they stood in front of the large bathroom mirror together and did their hair; Steve spritzed four puffs of his Farrah Fawcett hairspray onto Billy’s damp curls and helped shape them to perfection.

Later, when they were supposed to be getting dressed, Steve saw Billy looking out the window and asked if there was anything in particular he wanted to do while they were in Chicago.

Billy shrugged; he was feeling lazy and hadn't even taken off his bathrobe yet. “You’re the one who’s been here before… got any recommendations?”

“I dunno…” Steve upended his duffle bag on the bed and pawed through the small heap of clothes, hunting for a particular shirt. “There’s a pretty big record store a couple blocks away. We could go there… then maybe get some pizza for lunch if we're hungry after that.”

Billy fogged up the window with his breath, then used his finger to draw a heart in the white condensation; he hesitated for just a moment, feeling rather foolish, before writing 'S + B' inside the heart.

“What’re you doing?” Steve asked curiously as he buttoned his jeans and walked over to him.

“Nothing,” Billy answered quickly, wiping away the heart and hastily drawing a dick and balls instead. 

“Real mature,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Were you planning on getting dressed, or are you just gonna strut down Broadway in that bathrobe?”

“Relax, smartass.” Billy tugged him into a tight embrace and gave him a noogie. “I’ll get to it. And I don’t ‘strut’, for your information; I walk like a normal person.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve snorted and rubbed his thumb along the stubble sprouting on Billy’s jaw. “You’re starting to feel like a cactus.”

“Is that your subtle way of asking me to shave?”

“No, uh… it suits you, actually,” Steve admitted with a little smile. "I kinda like it."

“Yeah?” Billy brushed their cheeks together as he lowered his voice and growled in his ear. “Do you like the way it tickles your thighs when I go down on you, Stevie?”

“Jesus, Billy…” Steve bit his lip and squirmed, his cheeks turning pink. “Do you _ever_ stop thinking about sex?”

“With you around? Impossible.”

……………………..

It was a pleasantly cool, overcast day, and they set off on foot, talking animatedly as they walked for blocks and took in the sights. Billy had never been to Chicago and he tried not to look too much like a tourist as he gawked up at the skyscrapers, many of which were taller than the ones he’d seen in Los Angeles. They spent a blissful hour browsing in a huge record store, where Steve ended up buying seven cassettes: three for himself, and four for Billy. They would have no shortage of new music to play on the long drive back to Hawkins on Sunday afternoon.

When they walked past the Aragon Ballroom on Lawrence Avenue, Steve impulsively pulled out his wallet and bought two tickets to that evening’s Depeche Mode concert from a scalper. Billy wasn’t exactly a huge fan, but he knew Steve owned every Depeche Mode album, so he opted to be a good sport and not look a gift horse in the mouth.

_It's not every day you get to go to a sold-out concert at a really cool venue with a gorgeous guy, after all._

“Hey, look,” Steve said excitedly, nodding towards a poster on the wall as he tucked their newly-aquired tickets into his coat pocket. “The Smiths are gonna be here in June… that’d be a cool reason to come back.”

“Really?” Billy’s eyes widened in surprise. It hadn’t occurred to him that they might make trips like these a regular habit; he still hadn’t gotten over the thrill of their monthly escapes to the old cabin at Lake Tippecanoe.

“Yeah, why not?” Steve folded a stick of gum into his mouth and smiled when he noticed Billy looking at an old poster advertising a Metallica show. “February ninth, huh? Sorry we missed it… I guess that’s probably the kind of thing you’d rather see than The Smiths or Depeche Mode.” 

Billy shrugged and shook his head. “Anything’s fine with me, as long as you don’t try to drag me to a George Michael concert or something.”

Steve started singing ‘Careless Whisper’ and playing air-saxophone; he tried to keep a serious face, but couldn’t help bursting into laughter when Billy plugged his ears and begged him to stop.

……………………….

Around three o’clock, they stopped at a crowded, popular pizzeria. Billy had never tried deep-dish pizza before, and he loved it, although it was almost _too_ cheesy, if that was possible; he wasn’t sure it even counted as pizza, since it was as thick as a casserole and had to be eaten with a fork. 

Feeling happy and stuffed, they walked all the way to the lake and sat on a bench in a nice park for a while, smoking Marlboros and talking as they watched people jogging, walking their dogs and feeding the ducks. At one point, Steve looked down at his blue jeans and white Converse sneakers and wondered aloud if they ought to buy some new outfits to wear to that evening’s concert. Billy admitted that might be fun, so they stood up, stretched, and took off walking again, glancing curiously in each shop window they passed.

“We’ve still got a couple hours ’til the show starts,” Steve said, pausing in front of a men’s clothing boutique and glancing from his wristwatch to the window mannequins dressed in trendy clothes. He smiled at Billy and nodded towards the store entrance. “Wanna try this place?”

Billy hesitated for only a moment before allowing himself to be tugged into the store, which appeared to sell overpriced, punk-inspired menswear. He followed Steve around aimlessly, bobbing his head in time to ‘I Wanna Be Sedated’ by The Ramones; the music was so loud that he mostly communicated by either nodding, shrugging, or making a face as Steve held up various things for him to try on. Billy selected a few things for Steve to try on, as well-- the tighter, the better. Fortunately, they were the only ones in the store besides the bored-looking shopgirl sitting behind the counter; she only occasionally lifted her eyes from the issue of Rolling Stone she was reading.

Within a few minutes, Steve had ushered Billy into a fitting room along with a small heap of things to try on; some garments were more outlandish than others, and when Billy saw a pair of tight black leather pants, he poked his face out from between the purple velvet curtains of the fitting room to flag down his boyfriend.

“Seriously, dude?”

Steve shrugged innocently as he passed him yet another t-shirt. “Why not?”

Billy smirked coyly. “I never took you for the leather-fetish type…”

“Oh, just shut up and try ‘em on, will you?” Steve rolled his eyes and rested his hands on his hips; for a split second, Billy was reminded of the long-gone days when his mom used to get exasperated while taking him back-to-school shopping.

_What would she say if she saw me trying on pants like this..._

“Get in here,” Billy growled, reaching his hand out from between the curtains to grab Steve by the front of his sweater, dragging him into the cramped fitting room.

He had to admit that the pants looked pretty damn good on him; all the squats and lunges he did in his spare time were evident in the muscular curves of his thighs and calves, which stood out to perfection beneath the tight leather. Steve leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching as Billy turned around and admired his own ass in the full-length mirror.

“Told you they’d look great, Billy,” he said with a smug smile, eyeing him up and down appreciatively. “You planning on wearing a shirt with those, or are you gonna go like that?”

Billy glanced down at his bare torso and chuckled as he pulled on a dark red shirt with its sleeves torn off.

“Aw, babe…” He grinned at the shirt’s screen-printed depiction of a fist with its middle finger extended. “You know me so well.”

“I thought of you as soon as I saw it, and um… thought it would look good with your arms.”

_Oh, yeah?_

Billy couldn’t resist the instinct to flex his round biceps and wink flirtatiously at Steve. “We've got our concert tickets, but do you have tickets to the gun show?"

“Shut up,” Steve laughed, rolling his eyes and half-heartedly shoving him away.  

“Whoa!” Billy exclaimed suddenly when he noticed the price tag attached to his leather pants. “Holy shit, can we really afford all this?”

“Sure we can,” Steve shrugged with the disinterest of one unaccustomed to caring about how much things cost. “They take Visa here, I assume.”

Billy stepped up to him and wrapped his arms around his slim waist, drawing him closer to murmur seductively in his ear.

“Y’know, Stevie… this kinda makes you my sugar daddy, right?” 

“Cut it out,” Steve mumbled in protest, squirming in Billy’s arms and turning pink with embarrassment. “There’s no way I’m anybody's sugar daddy.”

“No?” Billy held him tightly and nibbled playfully on his earlobe, smiling when Steve shivered at the touch of his teeth. “But you’re an older man buying me expensive clothes and concert tickets and shit…”

“Older man, my ass.” Steve tsked and punched him on the arm. “You’re only six months younger, so don’t try to make me sound like a horny old perv.”

“Mmm, you are, though…” Billy continued, cupping Steve's butt. “You’re a well-off, older gentleman hoping to win my heart with your fat wallet so you can take me back to your swanky hotel room and have your dirty way with me…”

“Billy…” Steve murmured with a self-conscious chuckle, glancing down at Billy's hand on his ass. “You… you know there’s no way I’m doing anything crazy in this fitting room, right?”

_Never say never…_

Billy kissed his neck and stubbornly continued with his impromptu little role-play; he thought he could feel Steve getting hard. “Thanks for buying me all these gifts, Mr. Harrington… I want you to know how grateful I am, but how can I repay your kindness?”

“Billy,” Steve whispered with more urgency. “Cut it out, you’re making me… let’s just buy this stuff so we can go back to the hotel room, okay?”

“I’m just a poor boy you found wandering the rough streets of Chi-town…” Billy smirked against the warm skin of his neck and held him tight, grinding his pelvis against Steve’s round little denim-clad bottom. "The only way I can possibly thank you for your generosity is with my body… please be gentle with me, sir.”

“Billy!” Steve hissed, finally managing to twist out of his grasp; his cheeks were flushed a delicate shade of pink and he swatted him with the pants he’d been holding. “I can’t take you anywhere, Jesus Christ…”

Billy poked his head out from between the curtains to confirm that the shopgirl was still completely engrossed in her magazine, then turned back to watch as Steve shimmied out of his jeans. 

Steve frowned doubtfully at the snug pair of green and black plaid trousers as he zipped them up. “Um... are you sure about these? They don’t even look like guy’s pants… there aren’t any belt loops.”

Billy picked up a pair of skinny leather suspenders that had fallen on the floor and held them out to him. “That’s what these are for.”

“Oh, jeez…” Steve sighed with resignation as he tucked the tight black Loverboy band shirt Billy had selected into the pants, clipped on the suspenders and stood back to stare critically at himself in the mirror.

“I dunno, Billy… these are awfully flashy and, uh… tight.”

Billy met Steve’s eyes in the mirror and licked his lips. “You look fuckin' fantastic… like a rock star.”

“I can’t wear these shoes with this crazy getup,” Steve fretted, looking down ruefully at the pair of slightly scuffed, white sneakers he'd been wearing all day.

“Hey!” Billy leaned out of the changing room to alert the attention of the idle shopgirl at the front counter. “Do you sell shoes here, miss?”

The store did, indeed, stock shoes and Steve ended up buying a pair of all-black Converse high-tops for himself and a pair of Doc Marten lace-up boots for his boyfriend, reasoning that Billy's old biker boots would look noticeably shabby when paired with his shiny black leather pants.

“Holy shit,” Billy muttered under his breath as the young woman rang up their purchases and tucked them neatly in two bags; he knew Steve’s family was well-off, but he still found it hard to believe anyone could just fork over almost three hundred dollars without batting an eye. “You sure about all this?”

“What’s the big deal?” Steve shrugged as he tucked his credit card back in his wallet and signed the receipt. “It wasn’t _that_ much.”

_Fuckin’ rich people, man..._

…………………

They returned to their hotel room to change into their new concert outfits, and ended up leaving half an hour later than they’d planned because Billy insisted on giving Steve a blow job first. Steve decided it would look lame to bring the awkwardly large Polaroid camera, and he opted to leave his glasses at the hotel, too; he said he would wear his Ray-Ban sunglasses instead, which were prescription, so he'd be able to see the stage clearly. 

Billy had assumed he’d drive them to the venue in his Camaro, but Steve insisted that they take a taxi, since it would be difficult to find parking and there was a good chance they’d both end up getting very drunk by the end of the night.

They arrived late, checked their coats at the front and stepped inside, looking around in awe; the Aragon Ballroom was much larger than Billy expected, and completely thronged with people. As the name hinted, it was designed to look Spanish, with a beautiful ceiling that resembled the starry night sky. Depeche Mode had just finished playing their first song, and everyone was cheering and applauding. It was so loud and dark that nobody seemed to notice or care when Billy rested his hand on the small of Steve’s back, just above the waistband of his tight green pants. He guided him carefully through the crowd until they found a good spot near a wall, with a decent view of the stage.

“Want a drink, babe?”

Steve turned to look at him, crinkling his forehead and cupping a hand around his ear. “What do I think? ‘Bout what?”

Billy cleared his throat and spoke louder, almost needing to yell to be heard over the music and their fellow concert attendees. “I said _drink_! What do you want to _drink_?”

For good measure, he pantomimed raising a cup to his lips.

“Oh… yeah, sure!” Steve instinctively reached towards his back pocket.

“I’ve got this.” Billy batted his hand away. “I may not be loaded like you, but I can afford a few drinks… what do you want, a beer?”

“Anything’s fine… surprise me.”

The bar in the back of the ballroom was mobbed with people, and it took Billy almost ten minutes just to buy a cup of beer and a Long Island iced tea; he asked the bartender to add a cherry, since he knew Steve liked them. When he finally returned to his side and handed him the drink, Billy willed himself not to get hard as he watched him pop the maraschino cherry into his mouth and daintily tear off the stem with his teeth.

“Can you tie it in a knot with your tongue?” 

“No,” Steve scoffed. “Why the hell would I?”

“It’d be sexy as hell.”

“You learn how to do it, then,” Steve retorted, flicking the cherry stem at him. “You’re the one who can’t keep your tongue in your trap.”

“Only around you, babe.”

Steve smiled, his cheeks hollowing as he took a sip of his Long island iced tea; he licked his lips and glanced around surreptitiously before leaning over to give Billy a long, sweet, cherry-flavored kiss.

_…………………………………_

_“People are people so why should it be you and I should get along so awfully…”_

As ‘People are People’ boomed from the stage, Billy returned from his second trip to the bar with a precariously full cup of beer clutched in each hand. He walked faster when he noticed a guy standing close to Steve; he was tall and muscular with a black leather vest and a peroxide-blond Billy Idol hairstyle.

_Who the hell is that?_

Narrowing his eyes, Billy elbowed his way through the dancing crowd, carefully holding the cups of beer aloft so they didn’t spill.

_Can’t leave him alone for a minute._

“You okay?” Billy called out to Steve as he returned to his side and passed him a cup of beer. He looked at the blond stranger with suspicion, standing up straighter and trying to exude a confident, don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. “Who’s this?”

Steve accepted the sloshing cup gratefully. “He’s a photographer and his name is, uh… Adrian, maybe?”

“It’s Fabian, actually,” the man corrected smoothly, turning to Billy with a broad, dimpled smile; he looked like he was in his early thirties. “That’s a cool earring, bud… and I just _love_ that shirt.”

_I’m not your ‘bud’, fuckface._

When Fabian the Photographer extended a hand for him to shake, Billy did so very reluctantly, wishing he would just go away and stop staring at Steve with unconcealed lust in his bloodshot blue eyes.

Fabian didn’t release Billy’s hand immediately, clasping it tightly as he eyed him up and down approvingly. He was tall wearing a leather biker vest with no shirt underneath, and his chest was well-defined and obviously waxed. “Are you two together, or…?”

Steve’s eyes widened and he took a hasty gulp of beer, choking a little and wiping some foam from his upper lip with the back of his hand. He finally managed to nod a little, glancing over at Billy for help.

“Yeah, we’re together.” Billy pulled his hand free of Fabian’s grasp and wrapped his arm protectively around Steve’s shoulders; even when standing up as straight as he could, the older man was still at least three inches taller.

"High school sweethearts, huh?" Fabian laughed and lit a cigarette. “That’s adorable as hell… say, you boys are eighteen, right?”

 _God, this dude is persistent. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to beat anyone up tonight, but I might make an exception for this tool._  

“So, I’ve got a loft just a few blocks south of here, and both of you… _sinfully_ sexy boys would be more than welcome to keep me company, if you’re—”

“Uh, no thanks,” Steve interrupted hastily, stepping closer to Billy. “I think we’re gonna have to pass.”

“Don’t wanna share?” Fabian laughed again, smoke escaping his lips as he pulled a small plastic bag of pills from his pocket and showed it to them. “Bet I could get you to change your minds… and if not, no worries: I like to watch, too. I’ve got a video camera and—”

Billy had heard enough. “No offense, man, but fuck off.”

Without another word, Billy steered Steve away from their persistent admirer. They made their way slowly along the wall, trying not to bump into people and slosh their beer everywhere, until they found another good spot to stand. Billy leaned over to give Steve a quick kiss on the cheek. “I could never share you.”

“Thanks for not beating him up.” Steve sipped his beer and smirked, glancing over at Billy. “That guy wanted to stick it in us both, I think.”

“Well, can you blame him?” Billy said with an arrogant toss of his head, too buzzed to care how vain he sounded. “We’re smokin’ hot and we’ve got terrific asses… especially you, babe.”

“I told you these pants were too flashy,” Steve said as the next song began to play, speaking in an almost-yell to be heard over the pounding music.

“Trust me, it’s not the pants.” Billy could feel the beer making him pleasantly light-headed. “You could’ve turned up wearing your grandpa’s pajamas and you’d still be the most gorgeous guy here.”

Steve smiled self-consciously and took another sip of his beer, tilting his head back; the impressively beautiful nighttime “sky” on the ceiling and the bright stage lights were reflected in his black Ray-Bans, and Billy didn't think he'd ever looked quite so beautiful.

  _……………………._

The next hour passed with no major disturbances, but then Billy noticed a tall drunk guy with a shaggy, dark mullet and moustache harrassing a young woman standing just a few feet from them. 

“Hold my beer,” he said in Steve’s ear, passing him his half-full cup. “This’ll just take a sec.”

“But—”

“Just stay here, babe,” Billy called over his shoulder as he approached the disorderly drunk. When he stepped up behind him, he could catch snippets of the argument over the pounding music.

“…I said no! Fuck off!”

“Aw, c’mon, doll… there’s no need to get hysterical. Why don’t you chill out and show me your tits…” 

“Hell, no!” The young woman backed away, looking both frightened and pissed off; even in platform shoes, she was still just a little over five feet tall, with a distinctive Siouxie haircut and thick black eyeliner.

_Can she even see the stage without sitting on someone’s shoulders?_

“Hey!” Billy tapped the guy angrily on the shoulder, drawing himself to his full height and crossing his arms. “I don’t think she’s interested, dude. Why don’t you buzz off so she can enjoy the show?”

“I’m not bothering _nobody_ , goddamnit… I was just tryin’ to say _hello_ , and—”

“You okay?” Ignoring the drunk idiot, Billy addressed the young woman with the Siouxie hair. Billy hadn’t noticed at first, but she had a friend with her: a pretty blonde woman wearing a Depeche Mode shirt tucked into a neon-green miniskirt.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” the petite, raven-haired woman answered, squeezing her girlfriend’s hand and glaring resentfully at the accosting boor. “Just trying to watch the show without some creep trying to cop a feel.”

“Butt out, blondie… this is none of your business.” Clutching a half-empty cup of beer, the guy staggered closer to Billy and jabbed his finger against his chest; he stank of beer and sweat, and between his slurred speech and the loud music, Billy could barely hear him.

“Hey!” Steve spoke up suddenly as he stepped beside Billy, still holding a beer in each hand. “Don’t touch him.”

The drunk guy took half a step back, laughing as he glanced from Billy and Steve to the Siouxie-looking woman and her girlfriend. “Damn, is _everybody_ here a fuckin’ queer?”

The blonde woman in the miniskirt, who seemed rather tipsy herself, pulled a wet little wad of bubblegum from her mouth and flicked it at the guy’s head, where it lodged itself in his hair. “It’s a fucking _Depeche Mode_ concert, you stupid sack of shit!”

“What the hell?!” The guy flushed red with rage and pawed at his greasy hair with his free hand; the gum wouldn’t budge, and he narrowed his eyes at the two women. “You’re not getting away with that, bitch!" 

“Yeah, she is, actually,” Billy said loudly as he shoved him with all his might.

The guy staggered backwards, flailing his arms and spilling his cup of beer all of himself as he tumbled onto the hardwood floor with a thud that would’ve been audible if the music wasn’t so loud. Sensing a fight, the people around them backed away to give them some room, but the guy only lurched drunkenly to his feet and stormed away, clutching his mouth like he needed to throw up.

“Thanks for stepping in there, man.” The woman with the black Siouxie hair smiled at Billy, keeping one arm wrapped protectively around her girlfriend’s waist. “Nice to know there are still a few dudes out there who aren’t slobbering menaces to society.”

Billy nodded at the young women and turned back to Steve, who handed him his beer and grinned, bumping their plastic cups together in a little toast.

“Billy Hargrove to the rescue!”

_That's me: defender of harassed lesbians and scourge of drunk dirtbags._

“Shut up,” he muttered modestly, trying not to smile as he tipped his head back and drained his beer, then reached down for Steve's hand. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

Billy may not have been much of a Depeche Mode fan, but he had to admit he was having a fantastic time. He loved seeing Steve so tipsy, happy and carefree, raising his hands in the air and dancing like nobody was watching. He was enjoying himself so much, he was almost a little sad to see the band leave the stage, and ended up cheering along with everyone else when they returned for a handful of encores, including two of Steve’s favorites: ‘Everything Counts’ and ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’.

_“When I’m with you baby, I go out of my head, and I just can’t get enough, I just can’t get enough…”_

 ……………..

It was past midnight when Billy retrieved their jackets from the coat check and ushered Steve outside; he paused to light a cigarette, keeping a watchful eye on his inebriated boyfriend, who had unzipped his tight concert pants and turned to piss discreetly against a wall.

“Well, hello again.” A voice spoke behind him: it was the young woman with Siouxie hair, staring past Billy and smirking at Steve, who was buttoning his trousers back up and fiddling with his suspenders. “Is that your date?”

“The one and only, yeah.” Billy took a long puff and waved Steve over, extending his free hand for him to hold. “C’mon over here, babe, and say hi.”

“They have bathrooms inside, you know,” the woman pointed out.

“There was a line,” Steve mumbled sheepishly.

“You hear that, Cindy?” The young woman snickered and turned to her girlfriend, who was preoccupied with lighting a joint. “He said there was a line at the bathroom. An actual _line_.”

The blonde woman named Cindy hooted with laughter. “Aren’t men a riot? There’s _always_ a line outside ladies’ rooms, but do you see us peeing all over creation? No!”

Billy snorted at the adorably bewildered expression on Steve's face.

"Anyway, all jokes aside..." Cindy pointed the joint she was holding at Steve and grinned. “You make me think of that Corey Hart song.”

The dark-haired young woman gestured at his black Ray-Bans and Cindy joined her in singing a line from the hit song in a surprisingly well-harmonized, impromptu duet.

_“I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can, so I can see the light that’s right before my eyes…”_

“Oh,” Steve chuckled and tucked the glasses into his coat pocket, looking up at the streetlight above them and blinking as his eyes adjusted. “Guess I forgot I was wearing them… no wonder it was so damn dark.”

“You guys sounded pretty good,” Billy said to the young women. "You in a band or something?"

“Ha! Wouldn't that be something... we met in choir, in eleventh grade,” Cindy said, smiling at her partner. “That was, like, five years ago.”

“You met in high school?” Steve asked as he glanced over at Billy.

_Just like us._

“Yeah.” Cindy seemed to notice Billy and Steve’s clasped hands and smiled at them. “I gotta say… you two make a helluva cute couple.”

“So do you,” Steve answered automatically, though he was so drunk he botched his own introduction, mistakenly pointing to Billy as he said “I’m Steve”, then pointing at himself when he said, “And this is Billy.”

The blonde woman laughed again as she passed the joint to her girlfriend. “I’m Cindy, and this is Rochelle. You two from around here?”

“Nope,” Billy and Steve replied at the same time.

“Been having a great time in Chicago so far, though.” Billy nodded in thanks when Rochelle passed him the joint; he took a long drag, then gave it to Steve.

Cindy shivered and pulled her faux-fur coat tighter. “It’s still so damn cold this time of year, though… you boys oughtta come by in the summer, when it's nice and warm.”

“Yeah,” Rochelle piped up, taking the joint from Steve when he passed it back to her. “You two ever been to a pride parade?”

“A _what_ parade?” Steve asked curiously.

Cindy and Rochelle gaped at each other and burst into a fit of giggles.

“A _what_ parade, he said,” Cindy cackled, coughing a little on the weed smoke. “You two must be from a really small town, huh?”

“ _He_ is, but I’m not,” Billy objected defensively. “There’s a pride parade in L.A., too.”

Steve seemed to have put two and two together and nudged Billy with his elbow. “You actually went to a… a parade like that, back in California?”

“Nah,” Billy said dismissively, taking the joint from Cindy for another quick puff. “I was just a dumb kid, and Neil would’ve killed me if he found out. Besides, who would I have gone with?”

Rochelle stepped off the curb and whistled shrilly, summoning a yellow taxicab. 

Cindy followed her, pausing to wave at the boys still standing on the sidewalk. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Billy and Steve, but we’ve gotta jet.”

“Here,” Billy said, holding out the half-finished joint to her. “Thanks for sharing with us, that was really decent of you.”

Cindy smiled and shook her head as she clambered into the taxi. “Why don’t you hang onto it.”

“Really? Thanks.”

The cab door slammed and Rochelle rolled down the window; her black eyeliner was smudged and there was a little red lipstick on her front teeth. “No, thank _you_ for sticking up for us in there… a lotta people wouldn’t have given a shit, but you did.”

“Byeeeee!” Cindy sang drunkenly from within the cab, clambering onto her girlfriend’s lap so she could wave out the window, too. “See you guys at the parade!”

“When is it?” Steve stepped forward and shouted back at her, taking Billy by surprise.

“June thirtieth!” Rochelle yelled as the cab drove away. “Be there or be square!”

Billy passed the joint to Steve. “You seriously wanna go?”

Steve shrugged, taking a long drag and tilting his head back to blow smoke at the sky. “I like parades.”

“Well, I hate parades,” Billy said, reaching out to tuck his hand in Steve’s coat pocket. “But I like you, so fuck it. We’ll go, if you want.”

_Not so long ago, he was saying "I'm not gay" and now here he is, telling me he wants to go to a damn gay pride parade... we've come a hell of a long way._

………………………

A few minutes later, they were zooming down Broadway in a cab of their own that smelled like cigar smoke and air freshener. They both felt giddy and weightless from all the booze and weed.

The driver glanced in his rearview mirror as he took a sharp right turn that caused Steve to flop over drunkenly on the back seat. 

“Is your friend sick?” The driver asked in a heavy Russian accent. “If he is going to vomit, you must get out.”

“He’s alright,” Billy said reassuringly, pulling Steve closer to him; he lowered his voice and bent his face towards his ear. “Right, Stevie? Just tell me if you feel like you’re gonna lose your lunch.”

“I’m cool, just… resting my head,” Steve mumbled incoherently against the sleeve of Billy’s leather bomber jacket. “Everything’s spinning and… everything counts…”

“If he vomit in my cab, you must pay double,” the driver piped up again, raising two thick fingers for them to see. “For cleaning the upholstery, yes?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Billy rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him snugly against him. “Relax, man; nobody’s gonna ralph in your precious cab.”

_Not that a little barf would make this car smell much worse._

Steve rested his head on Billy’s shoulder and nuzzled his neck like a kitten, too tipsy and stoned to care that they weren’t exactly alone.

“Billy,” he murmured, his warm breath ticklish. “Thanks for… everything.”

_For what? I didn’t do shit… this was all him._

“You’re welcome, I guess, but…” Billy sighed and inclined his face so he could rest his cheek against the top of Steve’s head; he could still catch a faint whiff of his shampoo. “You’re the sugar daddy who’s been splashing out on fancy hotel rooms, concert tickets, clothes—”

“That doesn’t count,” Steve interjected, waving his hand dismissively in the air.

“You just said everything counts.”

“I did?” Steve chuckled and rubbed his nose against Billy’s neck again. “Oh, yeah… I was thinking of the Depeche Mode song, I guess. Jesus, you’re so warm…”

“Hey… Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” Billy said softly, his voice a little muffled by Steve’s hair. He spoke quietly enough that there was no way the driver could hear him, especially over the music playing on the radio.

Steve heard him clearly, though.

“Love you, too,” he mumbled, his husky murmur tickling Billy’s neck.

The simple yet loaded words still had an uncertain novelty to them, like driving a car for the first or second time versus driving it the hundredth time, or the thousandth. Billy wondered if he and Steve would be lucky enough to get to that point: where those three words came so naturally that they were spoken instinctively with every affectionate good-morning and goodbye.

 _I’ve never loved anyone like this. Well, there was Mom, but that was different, and she’s long gone._  

They laced their fingers together on Billy’s lap and Steve started humming along quietly to ‘Head Over Heels’ by Tears For Fears.

Billy saw the cab driver’s eyes narrow suspiciously when he glanced in the rearview mirror; he wasn’t sure if he was being paranoid or if there really was a look of faint disgust on the weathered old face peppered with grey stubble.

“In addition to no vomit, my friends, there is also to be no drugs and no sex in cab, yes?”

Steve snorted with laughter, raising his head from Billy’s shoulder to meet the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Do people really try to bang in here?”

The driver accelerated as a light turned yellow. “I have seen many things in my long years of driving taxis in this city, and in others. I have had fares that sniff the drugs, do the oral sex...”

“Hey Steve,” Billy teased, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “You in the mood for some head?”

Instead of responding in the usual way, like jabbing him with his elbow or shushing him, Steve smiled against the skin of Billy’s throat. “Yeah…”

Billy squirmed in his seat when he felt Steve boldly run his hand up his thigh.

“When we get back to the hotel, okay?” Steve's hand brushed over the front of his jeans and squeezed firmly enough to make Billy groan quietly.

_God, I want him…_

“I love this song,” Steve said suddenly when Madonna’s ‘Into the Groove’ began to play. “Can you turn it up, buddy? Please?”

The driver grunted with obvious disapproval, though he adjusted the radio knob accordingly, filling the car with the infectious club beat.

“Seriously?” Billy laughed as Steve lip-sang and bobbed his head to the music, his hair flopping with each movement.

_“Get into the groove, boy you’ve got to prove your love to me, yeah…”_

……………………………….

When they finally arrived back at the hotel, Billy paid the driver and wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulders, supporting him as they made their way unsteadily through the lobby, which was quiet and almost empty at one in the morning. They stumbled out of the elevator when they reached the twelfth floor, then shushed each other and giggled hysterically as they raced all the way down the carpeted hallway.

“I won!” Steve announced breathlessly when he reached their room, fumbling in his coat pocket for the key.

Once inside, they didn’t waste any time peeling off each other’s clothes, dropping them all over the floor in a tangled mess of t-shirts, black leather and green plaid. Billy tossed Steve onto the bed and paused to switch on one of the bedside lamps; he ignored Steve’s protests when he picked up the Polaroid camera, pointed it at him and said, “Smile for me, pretty boy.”

Steve sat cross-legged on the bed and looked up at the camera as he modestly covered his lap with a pillow.

“Fine,” he sighed, tilting his head at an imperious angle and pouting like a model. “Is this good?”

“Perfect,” Billy answered quietly, the Polaroid camera whirring when he took the picture. He set the photo on the bedside table to develop and made a mental note to get Steve to dress up in his concert outfit again the next day for a photo.

Steve pointed the remote at the television to turn on MTV, groaning when it was just a commercial for Irish Spring soap. "A shower _would_ hit the spot right about now... I stink."  

He stumbled a little as Billy guided him backwards into the bathroom. It felt sublime to wash off the layer of city grime they’d accumulated during their long day out on the town. Billy laughed until his sides hurt when Steve slicked his long, thick hair up into three six-inch long liberty spikes and sang ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ into the detachable hand-held shower head. Steve shampooed Billy’s hair for him, talking about the concert and occasionally pausing mid-sentence to kiss him beneath the steaming hot water.

Billy's dick hardened at the sharp little moan Steve let out when he carefully slipped first one, then two soapy fingers inside him.

_Thank god I’m not too drunk to get it up._

“Billy…” Steve whispered, his cheek pressed against the tile wall of the shower and his voice barely audible over the rushing water. “You don’t have to— _nnh_ that’s… oh, f-fuck…”

Billy’s fingers paused. “Does it hurt?”

“N-no, keep going…” Steve said quietly, glancing over his shoulder. “Just be gentle… mmm, yeah, like that…”

Billy snaked his arm around Steve’s narrow hips to jerk him off, his soapy fist briskly pumping his long, perfect cock exactly the way he liked it. Despite being drunk, Steve still only took two or three minutes of attentive fondling to come, tensing in Billy’s arms then relaxing with a shaky, contented sigh.

“You good?” Billy asked, reaching past him to turn off the shower faucet.

“Yeah…” Steve answered as he tilted his head back to kiss Billy, but missed and kissed his chin instead. “I’m about to keel over, though, so… take me to bed, ‘kay?”

Billy was both amused and aroused by this drunk, uninhibited, weak-in-the-knees version of Steve; he wrapped his dripping wet body in one of the huge, white hotel towels, then scooped him up in his arms and carried him out of the bathroom.

“I feel like a burrito,” Steve laughed as Billy tossed him onto the large, luxurious bed. “Or a joint.”

The towel came unfurled, and Steve was too giddy to care about trying to hide his half-hard cock; he just sprawled languidly on the bed in all his nude glory, his dark eyes reflecting the light of the Pizza Hut commercial playing on the television.

“Want me to turn it off?” Billy asked, reaching for the remote control just as the commercial ended and the music video for Toto’s ‘Africa’ began to play.

“Don’t you dare!” Steve objected loudly, rolling over and snatching the remote from the bedside table; he pointed it at the TV and pressed the volume button repeatedly until the rhythmic pop ballad filled every corner of the room. “I _love_ this song.”

“You would,” Billy grumbled, wishing MTV would play ‘Rock You Like a Hurricane’ or something more to his taste. “It’s so cheesy, and the singer has a stupid lumberjack beard, and—”

Steve cut him off abruptly by reaching out to yank the towel off Billy's waist. “Shut up and get the lube.”

_Not gonna argue with that…_

He obediently fetched the little bottle and vigorously rubbed some on his dick as he knelt on the bed in front of Steve, who was looking up at him with hungry, expectant brown eyes.

_“It’s gonna take a lot to take me away from you…”_

Billy swallowed hard, drinking in the intoxicating sight of Steve leaning back against the soft, white pillows with his lips and thighs both parted invitingly.

_“There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do…”_

He crawled on top of Steve eagerly, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him deeply.

_“I bless the rains down in Africa…”_

It was hard for Billy to care about music, cheesy or otherwise, when there was such a warm, beautiful boy pinned beneath him, responding to his every touch and tightly gripping his shoulders. They could’ve listened to the Sesame Street theme song for all Billy cared; his mind was filled to the brim with Steve and in those exquisite moments that stretched into minutes, little else mattered.

_“Gonna take some time to do the things we never had.”_

Steve was in the position he seemed to favor: on his back, with one of his knees bent over the crook of Billy’s elbow. He inhaled sharply and bit his bottom lip as Billy spread his thighs further apart and gradually nudged himself inside.

“You okay?” Billy asked quietly, looking directly into his eyes as he entered.

“Y-yeah…”

Billy reached one hand out to touch his face, dragging his thumb across his soft bottom lip; he was surprised and very turned on when Steve opened his mouth a little wider and let Billy slip the tip of his finger past his lips. Knowing that Steve was probably still sore after their lengthy session in the Camaro the previous afternoon, Billy tried to be gentle, but the wet warmth of Steve’s mouth and ass drove him crazy with want; he particularly loved the erotic, slightly muffled moans Steve made as he suckled on the tips of the index and middle finger Billy had slipped in his mouth.

“Fuck, Stevie, that’s good…”

He thrust inside over and over, but tried to only go deep enough to hit the spot that made Steve whimper and moan; combining this with a brisk, skillful hand job resulted in Steve coming by the time the Toto song was over. Billy still hadn’t climaxed, so he gripped Steve’s hips and increased his tempo, eventually forgetting about being gentle and just fucking him like there was no tomorrow.

_Probably shouldn’t have had so many beers… I can't come._

Billy could tell Steve was becoming more and more exhausted. When he still hadn’t come by the end of the Eurythmics’ ‘Sweet Dreams Are Made of This’ and noticed Steve wincing and digging his fingers sharply into his back, he stilled.

_Are those tears in his eyes?_

Billy leaned down to kiss him. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“I’m, uh... I'm okay…” Steve said in a shaky, barely audible voice. "K-keep going..."

Billy sighed and backed out very slowly, making Steve shiver and twitch with every fraction of an inch he withdrew.

“I said I’m okay,” Steve mumbled stubbornly, gripping the back of Billy’s neck and tensing as he pulled out. “You didn’t come yet, so…”

“Don’t worry about me.” Billy bent down to quiet him with another kiss; he shifted his body as he spoke, straddling Steve and pressing their stiff cocks together. “I don’t wanna see you limping or walking bow-legged for the rest of the weekend just because I drank too damn much and had to fuck you ’til sunrise in order to come.”

“Sunrise, huh?” Steve chuckled wearily, biting his lip at the touch of Billy’s hot palm on his dick. “Jesus Christ…”

“You’ve gotta tell me when it hurts, Stevie,” Billy murmured as his hands moved. “Okay? ‘Cause I don’t want you to feel like you’ve gotta, like… power through it so I won’t think you’re a pussy or something. I don't wanna hurt you.”

Steve nodded, flinching when Billy rubbed his thumb over the silky tip of his leaking cock. “F-fuck, that's… nnh...”

A few minutes later they managed to come in unison, just the way Billy wanted; he groaned with satisfaction as he milked the last sticky drop from their cocks and looked down at the mess they’d made on Steve’s flat stomach.

“Oh my god,” Steve panted, trying to steady his breathing.

“Stay put… I’ll be back in a sec.” 

There was a commercial on the TV again, so Billy switched it off and turned on one of the bedside lamps; the room was suddenly quiet and bathed in a gentle, yellow glow. He went to the bathroom to take a piss, then soaked a washcloth with warm water and wrung it out into the sink.

“What’s that?” Steve mumbled wearily from where he was sprawled on the bed; he hadn’t budged an inch since Billy had dismounted.

Without answering, Billy knelt beside him and wiped the mess off his stomach, then rolled him over; even though he tried to be gentle when he swiped the washcloth between the rosy cheeks of his ass, Steve still inhaled sharply and flinched.

“Sorry,” Billy whispered as he kissed one of the many moles sprinkled across Steve’s beautiful back, which was still rising and falling rapidly after their recent shared exertion. He glanced down at the washcloth and frowned with concern when he saw a tiny red spot of blood. “Oh, fuck… I hurt you.”

“Mmm…” Steve sighed drowsily into his pillow, his eyes closed. “Hurt so good, though…”

Billy brushed the dark, damp hair off his forehead and bent down to kiss his temple. “You falling asleep, babe?" 

"Nuh-uh..."

Skeptical, Billy pulled the thick, white comforter over him and patted his back, then stood up slowly and stretched his arms over his head. He knew it was cliché of him, but he really enjoyed having a cigarette or two after making love. In warmer weather, he wouldn’t have minded going out onto the hotel balcony completely naked, but spring nights in Chicago were even colder than in Hawkins. He rummaged through the duffel bag Steve had brought until he found socks, a soft, grey sweatshirt and a pair of flannel drawstring pants; after putting on the pajamas and his bomber jacket, he stepped out onto the balcony and quietly closed the sliding glass door behind him.

The view, impressive during the day, was even better at night. From twelve stories up, he could see the entirety of Chicago spread out before him, the glittering city lights ending abruptly at the dark expanse of Lake Michigan.

_Beautiful._

He pulled a pack of Marlboros from his jacket pocket and lit one. Every time he used his shiny new Zippo lighter, he thought of Valentine’s Day and his kind, giving boyfriend; Steve was, hands-down, the most generous person he had ever met in his life.

_God only knows what he’s doing with a fuck-up like me._

Billy turned quickly at the sound of the door sliding open and watched Steve shuffle out onto the balcony wearing pajamas and cloaked in the thick, white comforter from the bed.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he closed the door behind him and stood beside Billy.

“Hey, yourself.”

“Mind if I bum a smoke?”

Billy wordlessly passed his freshly-lit cigarette to Steve, then pulled out another for himself.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asked, exhaling a long plume of smoke and watching it disappear in the chilly night air.

“Nothing… everything… you know, the usual.” Billy leaned against the balcony railing and smiled at him. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“Almost, but… I heard you come out here, and thought I’d join you.”

They stood there together in companionable silence for a minute, looking out at the glittering cityscape as they smoked. They had one more day, but on Sunday it would be time for them to make the long drive back to Hawkins; Billy hated the thought of going back and having to worry about Neil again.

_Why couldn’t that asshole have just stayed gone?_

“I wish we didn’t have to go back,” he blurted suddenly, his voice so low that Steve took a step closer to hear him. “I wish we could just stay here, like this…”

“What, drop out of high school and shack up in this hotel for the rest of our lives?” Steve chuckled affably and took another drag on his cigarette. “Sure, why not? I’m game if you are. We could go to concerts all the time, and eat deep-dish pizza every day if we want, and—”

“Speak for yourself,” Billy interjected wryly. “If I ate that greasy shit every day, I wouldn’t be able to fit into those sexy leather pants you got me.”

“Those pants were great… you should wear ‘em on the last day of school,” Steve suggested with a mischievous smirk. “Go out with a bang.”

“I’ll wear mine if you wear yours,” Billy retorted saucily, remembering how delectable Steve’s long legs and round little ass had looked in the dapper black-and-green trousers.

“We’ve gotta go back, though…” Steve leaned against the railing and sighed with resignation; wisps of smoke escaped his lips as he spoke. “Back to Hawkins, and chemistry exams…”

“…and Neil…” Billy added quietly, a heavy feeling settling over him at the thought of his cold-hearted father lurking back home.

“What’re you gonna do about him?”

Billy shrugged and reflexively clenched his fist. “Same thing you’re gonna do about your monsters, I guess… bide my time, hope he doesn’t come back, and if he does, deal with him accordingly.”

Steve let out a short, dry chuckle. “With a spiked baseball bat to the face?”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that, but if he ever talks to you again or tries to hurt you…” Billy swallowed hard at the unpleasant memories. “Let’s just say that asshole will wish he’d never been born.”

They were both quiet for a few moments, and Billy had the strange sense that they were thinking the exact same thing in that moment: that if Neil Hargrove moved back to the little house on Old Cherry Road, all hell would break loose if Billy was under the same roof.

Steve had a faraway, pensive look on his face, and he chewed his bottom lip as though he was deep in thought. “This is gonna sound kinda crazy, but… after your dad came back yesterday, I was thinking about maybe, uh... asking my mom if you could come stay at our place.”

Billy turned his head sharply. “Wait, what?”

_Holy shit… is he serious?_

“I just don’t want you to snap and get sent to prison, Billy.”

“How little self-control do you think I have?”

Steve just looked at him.

Billy sighed and tapped some ash from his cigarette, remembering the way he'd fantasized about breaking a huge glass vase over Neil's head. “Yeah, yeah… sorry I asked.”

“So what do you think?”

“About what?" Billy was starting to feel very self-conscious; he didn't want to be anybody's charity case. "Asking your parents if I can bunk at their mansion for a few months so I don't wig out and murder my dad?”

“Well, I’d probably phrase it differently, but yeah. Basically.”

Billy fell silent for a minute, smoking and staring down at the cars down on the street; from so high up, they looked like toys. 

Steve reached out and prodded his arm. “Well…?”

“I dunno, man…” Billy sighed again. “I can’t say it’s not tempting, but… even if your folks _did_ say yes, which is still an ‘if’, I’d feel like a lame freeloader or like I was in the way or something.”

“Don’t be stupid, you wouldn’t be in the way. That house has tons of extra space nobody's using; it’s got four bedrooms, five bathrooms…”

_Jesus, he’s loaded._

“Doesn’t mean your parents wanna start taking in boarders and strays, though.”

“You’re not a stray,” Steve insisted stubbornly. “Or a boarder, 'cause they wouldn't charge you... you'd just be a guest. And my mom already likes you, so I honestly don’t think she’d care.”

Billy smirked. “I bet that’ll change when she finds out about the things I like to do to her son.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Steve said with an unconvincing lack of concern, shivering a little as he pulled the white comforter higher on his shoulders. “There's a guest bedroom, and we also have a pretty big basement-"

"Gonna stash me in the basement, huh?" 

"It’s not the Ritz-Carlton, but it’s not a smelly dungeon, either… there’s carpet and a bathroom down there and everything."

_He hasn’t even asked them yet, though. Why is he getting my hopes up like this?_

Billy shook his head slowly, trying to organize his thoughts. “You’re really serious, huh? Why would you—”

“Why do you think?” Steve interrupted impatiently, exhaling a long plume of smoke. “Because I love you, dickhead.”

“God knows why…” Billy mumbled, feeling his cheeks turn warm despite the chilly breeze. He swallowed his insecurity and reached over to fumble beneath the comforter; Steve's palm felt wonderfully warm against his own cold, calloused hand. “I love you, too, man… and if you wanted to ask your mom about letting me crash, that’d actually be... pretty great. Sorry for being a pain in the ass.”

Steve took one last drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the railing and flicking it out into the darkness, then glanced over at Billy with a little smile. “It’s cool… as long as you’re _my_ pain in the ass.”

Laughing at Steve’s unwitting double entendre, Billy tugged him closer to plant a quick kiss on his still-damp mop of brown hair. “Wouldn’t wanna be anyone else’s.”

Steve yawned and stretched his arms above his head. “I’m dead tired… let’s go to bed, okay?”

“You read my mind, babe.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next (and final) chapter will skip ahead to June, when Billy and Steve take all the kids to see The Goonies. I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to seeing our handsome lovebirds in some revealing warm-weather outfits for once. :D


	18. Indiana Sunset

**Tuesday, June 18th, 1985**

Billy groaned with discomfort as he stepped out of the air-conditioned, popcorn-scented lobby of the Hawkins movie theater and into the sultry evening air. He missed the dry summers of Southern California; even when dressed in a loose tank top and jeans hacked off above the knees, his forehead was still damp with sweat.

Billy and Steve had been to several movies together, but this was the first time they had tried anything as ambitious as bringing half a dozen pubescent kids along with them. After just a few afternoons of hanging out with the gang, Billy was finally able to remember all the kids’ names: Max, El, Lucas, Dustin, Will, and Mike trotted just a few paces behind their chaperones in a tight cluster, jostling each other and laughing on the way out of the theater. Billy thought it was a crazy idea to take such a large group to see ‘The Goonies’, but Steve had insisted it would be fun.

_I hate to admit it, but it… well, it was sort of fun, actually. I guess._

It had taken a month or two, but one by one, the kids had eventually accepted Billy and no longer looked at him with worry in their eyes, like he was a snarling, untethered guard dog. Billy understood. After all, four of them had witnessed him beating up their beloved Steve, so it was only natural for them to be wary and skeptical. But thanks to Steve’s earnest, repeated endorsements and stubborn insistence that they all spend quality time together, the kids gradually came to see Billy in a better light.

_Now, instead of just one pesky little sibling, I’ve got six. How the hell did that happen?_

Initially, the six youngsters had watched Billy and Steve’s interactions with wide-eyed fascination, especially when the pair tried to hold hands inconspicuously, or the time Steve hosted a pool party for Dustin’s birthday and kissed Billy when he thought nobody was looking. Fortunately, the kids were smart and knew better than to make any strange expressions or act like Billy and Steve’s obvious affection for each other was something that ought to be hidden. Recently, Billy had noticed that the smallest boy, Will, seemed to stare at him and Steve more often than any of the others.

_Maybe he likes boys, too. The poor little dude looks confused as hell; Steve and I might need to have a chat with him someday. Maybe Steve could help him fix that unfortunate haircut, too._

Billy glanced down at his watch: it was nearly six o’clock, and the sun would set soon. He couldn’t wait to dump the kids at the Wheeler house so he could focus on more important things, like getting Steve out of those little chino shorts he was wearing. 

“Everyone’s gonna compare me to Chunk, aren’t they?” Dustin lamented loudly, interrupting Billy's R-rated thoughts.

“You’re not _that_ overweight,” Lucas assured him with a friendly pat on the back. “Besides, it doesn’t go by physical traits. Curly hair and an addiction to chocolate bars doesn’t make you Chunk. You’re way smarter than him, too.”

Dustin scrunched his face into a skeptical smile, slightly mollified. “He’s the goofball of the party, though…”

“Not the only one,” Mike piped up. “Corey Feldman’s character was an even bigger goofball; that’s why they called him Mouth.”

Billy tried to pretend he didn’t care about the kids’ conversation, but his ears pricked when he heard his name.

“ _What_ did you say?” He demanded sternly, scowling when that resulted in Max and El bursting into a peal of giggles.

“We were just talking about who was more like Brand, and El said…” Max covered her mouth with her hand and tried to stop laughing. “She said if you were Brand, Steve would be Andy.”

“What?” Steve exclaimed indignantly. “Why does _he_ get to be Brand? And why the hell am I Andy?”

“You could be Mouth... he had a grey Members Only jacket just like yours,” Mike pointed out.

“Steve isn’t an annoying motor-mouth, though,” Dustin countered loyally.

“Thanks, Dustin,” Steve said warmly, relieved that he wasn’t being compared to Mouth despite their similar taste in outerwear.

“Well, Andy _is_ a rich prep…” Lucas looked pointedly at Steve’s pastel-green Ralph Lauren polo, chino shorts, and brand-new pair of boat shoes. “And he used to hang out with a bad-news douchebag… Troy is kinda like that asshole, Tommy.”

“Yeah, Billy is more of your archetypal, weight-lifting, don't-mess-with-me type of guy.” Dustin looked over at Billy with a wary smile, hastily adding, “No offense, dude.” 

“None taken, _Chunk._ ” Billy rolled his eyes. “Anyway, this is stupid. If Steve wants to be Brand, he can be my guest. I’m nothing like that idiot.”

Max slurped the last dregs of soda from her cup and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “He wasn’t an idiot, he was always correcting people, like when his mom mixed up Hare Krishna and hara-kiri. And he was working out at the beginning of the movie… you work out a lot, too. But mainly it's 'cause he seems grumpy at the beginning, even though he’s actually alright if you get on his good side.”

“Grumpy, my ass,” Billy muttered with a scowl. “And he _is_ an idiot. What kind of shit-for-brains flunks his driver’s test? Also, I’d never steal some five-year-old’s pink Barbie bike to chase after you geeks. Everybody knows jogging would be faster and way more efficient than trying to pedal that tiny thing.”

“That was Data’s little sister,” Will piped up shyly. “And it was totally illogical; they obviously just did it for comedic effect.”

They all laughed at the memory of Brand pedaling frantically down the road on a girl’s bike several sizes too small for him, complete with matching pink training wheels and a little white basket.

“I’m not like Brand, but I can get on board with the other comparison.” Billy leaned over and whispered in Steve’s ear as they walked. “You’d make a great Andy: nice legs, pretty brown eyes, a tendency to get hysterical… bet you’d look ten times better than her in that yellow letterman sweater, too.”

“Shut up.” Steve bumped against him and gave Billy’s hand a brief squeeze. It wasn’t brief enough, though, to escape the notice of a small group of beefy jocks who used to play on the Hawkins High football team.

“See, I _told_ you something about those two was off,” one of them said loudly to his comrades as the group passed. “I fuckin’ knew it, man.”

Billy recognized the boy speaking as Scott, from gym class. He and his two friends were tall and well-muscled, with thick necks and broad shoulders that made their heads look too small. They were leaning against the side of the movie theater, and Scott was pulling cans of beer from the plastic rings of a six-pack; he passed a can to each of his friends, and they cracked them open eagerly.

Scott took a swig and smacked his lips, gesturing at Steve with the can of Budweiser. “Guess we know why Nancy dumped your ass, Harrington. She found out you were a fag, huh?”

“Shit…” Steve sighed wearily. “Billy, don’t—”

“What the fuck did you say?” Billy wasn’t going to let it slide, and he narrowed his eyes menacingly at the guffawing trio of bigots.

“Hargrove, isn’t it? Fresh from the fruity shores of California?” Scott nudged the guy to his left and asked in a loud stage whisper, “Hey, Norm… which one of them takes it up the keister, you think? My money’s on Malibu Ken.”

“Gross, man!” Norm hooted with laughter. “What’re you trynna do, make me puke?”

Billy clenched his fists until his fingernails dug painfully into his sweaty palms.

_Malibu Ken?_

“Just ignore them,” Steve muttered under his breath, grabbing his wrist and trying to tug him further along the sidewalk. “Please, Billy, just let it go.”

Behind him, Billy could hear El quietly ask, “What’s a fa—?”

“Don’t say it,” Max replied in a hasty whisper, loud enough that Billy heard, but quiet enough to escape the jocks’ notice. “It’s… it’s something mean people say about boys who like each other.”

“A mean word,” El said sadly.

At Billy’s side, Steve suddenly sneezed and rubbed his nose, attracting Scott’s attention.

“What’s the matter, Harrington?” He sneered, gesturing towards Steve. “You got allergies, or are you comin’ down with a nasty case of AIDS?”

_That’s it, I’m going to jail. ‘Cause I’m gonna kill him._

The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow-motion: Billy drew his fist back in preparation for punching Scott’s teeth down his throat, but his arm suddenly felt as though it was carved from solid wood. For just a moment or two, he couldn’t move a single muscle in his body; all he could do was stand there and watch with stunned disbelief as Scott, Norm, and the other oaf raised their cans of Budweiser in the air and upended them over their heads in perfectly choreographed unison. Billy wasn’t completely certain, but it seemed like all three of them had lost control of their bladders, as well.

_Holy shit._

“What the… what the fuck?!” Scott spluttered as beer streamed down his face, looking down with dismay at his new white Reeboks, which were now tinged yellow and dripping with cold lager and his own steaming urine. “H-how did… what the hell…”

Billy looked at Steve, laughing incredulously. “Holy shit, did you see that—?”

“Yeah, I saw it,” Steve nodded as he glanced over his shoulder at El with mingled concern and gratitude. “Let’s just, uh… let’s get these guys home, okay?”

The small-minded trio of trolls were clearly too shaken to do anything more than splutter indignantly and gape at each other with clueless, embarrassed expressions on their dripping faces. Thinking quickly, Billy stepped over to pick up the remaining three cans of beer, still attached to their six-ring plastic carrier.

“I’ll be taking these, if you don’t mind,” he said with a wink, smirking at how petrified and confused they looked. “Looks like you fellas have had enough.”

“Billy!” Max hissed, flapping her hand impatiently in his direction. “Come on!”

Billy and Steve hastily ushered their flock towards the parking lot behind the movie theater.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Billy asked aloud, even though he already knew the answer. He’d heard stories from Steve and Max about El’s powers, of course, but had never seen them in action before. Out of a combination of fearful awe and respect, he hadn't called the strange girl a martian in a long time; he wasn’t interested in getting thrown though a window, or getting his bladder squeezed until he pissed himself like a two-year-old.

“You know what it was, Billy,” Steve answered quietly, glancing over his shoulder and looking relieved that they weren't being pursued. “We can talk about it later.”

“Yeah, but why’d she stop me? That guy deserved to get his ass kicked for saying that to you—”

Steve squeezed his hand firmly. “You just finished those anger management classes, Billy… that knuckle-dragging caveman isn’t worth getting into trouble again. Hopper might not be so laid-back the next time you beat the shit out of someone.”

It occurred to Billy somewhat belatedly that without El’s timely interference, he and Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to win a fight against the three meatheads; that was why she had stopped him.

_Max has some surprisingly cool friends…_

As the kids piled into Billy’s Camaro and Steve’s BMW, El paused to look at them, smiling enigmatically as she reached up to wipe a tiny drop of blood from her nose.

………………….

After Billy and Steve dropped the kids off at Mike Wheeler’s house for an evening of Dungeons & Dragons, they made a quick detour to Steve’s place so he could leave his BMW there and ride with Billy, which they both preferred. The Harringtons were still home, bustling around as they got ready for a country club fundraising dinner, so Billy decided to drive Steve to one of their favorite spots in Hawkins: the water tower near school. That way they could smoke and drink their recently-acquired beer in peace while watching the sunset.

Half an hour later, Billy and Steve were fifty feet in the air, sitting side-by-side on the massive white water tower and letting their legs dangle over the edge. They passed a cigarette back and forth and polished off the three stolen cans of beer, talking about the movie, the kids, El’s impressive abilities… everything.

Billy really liked the Hawkins water tower; it was private, had a killer view, and seemed so quintessentially small-town. The suburb in Los Angeles where he’d grown up didn’t have any water towers, and one of the only ones he’d ever seen was the old, iconic Warner Brothers water tower in Burbank. He could see little telltale wisps of smoke here and there from backyard barbecues; the delicious summer scents of charcoal smoke and grilled meat made his mouth water.

Billy reached over and lightly rubbed his pinkie along the side of Steve’s thigh, recreating the awkward intimacy of that afternoon in January when they had sat on the bed together reading ‘Tess of the d’Urbervilles’.

A small smile twitched at the corner of Steve’s lips; he remembered, too.

“I thought you were gonna kiss me, that day when I came over to your place for the first time,” he said quietly, looking down at Billy’s hand on his thigh. “And then the night of the party, when we were outside together…”

_I really wanted to. Maybe I should have…_

“Would you have let me?” Billy asked curiously.

“I dunno, maybe.” Steve shrugged and looked up to meet his eyes. “Okay… _probably_.”

Billy cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Probably?”

“For a second or two before I lost my nerve, yeah.” Some of Steve’s hair was stuck to his forehead, which was still sweaty from the long climb up the narrow steel ladder. “But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause people kept barging in on us, anyway.”

At the party, it was the girl Steve had brought with him in a last-minute effort to convince himself and everyone else that he was straight as an arrow; Billy couldn’t recall her name. And when they were reading ‘Tess’ at Billy’s house, it was Neil who interrupted them.

_I almost wish he could see us now… happy as clams and not giving two shits about him or what he thinks._

In late March, Neil had moved back into the house on Old Cherry Road with more promises of being a “changed man”, and Susan insisted she would hold him to higher standards than previously. Billy wasn’t interested in sticking around to find out if any of that was true, so he packed up his meager belongings and left. He felt no nostalgic ties to the house, since he had barely lived in it for six months, but he was sorry to leave Max behind. Neil wasn’t a threat to her, at least, and she seemed happy enough, except for one thing: just like Billy, she couldn’t bring her boyfriend to the house. Not while Neil was around.

Initially, Billy had been really embarrassed about living with the Harringtons, but it was only for a few months, and their basement was as nice as Steve had promised. It was a carpeted, seven-hundred-square-foot expanse filled with cardboard boxes labeled in Mrs. Harrington’s neat, loopy cursive and old furniture she didn’t think was good enough to be upstairs anymore but wasn’t shabby enough to throw away. There was a bathroom, a comfy old couch that converted to a bed, a foosball table Steve had received for Christmas in 1976, and an old TV that still worked.

Billy stopped worrying about Steve’s parents getting suspicious, because they were both completely oblivious. Steve’s dad, who was always either busy at work or busy in his office at home, didn’t seem to care that Billy was there, whereas Mrs. Harrington appeared genuinely delighted to have him around: he tutored Steve almost every day, kept his “room” tidy, and sometimes he even helped make dinner and wash the dishes. Steve had an old Atari 2600 video game console he’d received for his sixteenth birthday, and he taught Billy how to play ‘Yars’ Revenge’ and ‘Pac-Man’. It didn’t take long for Steve to get Billy hooked on watching ‘Saturday Night Live’ and ‘Miami Vice’, too.

As soon as the weather was warm enough, Billy suggested that they move their tutoring sessions pool-side; he was starting to feel like a pasty mid-westerner and wanted to work on his tan. By May, they were taking off their shirts and rubbing sunscreen on each other’s backs, luxuriating on the patio while they talked for hours about the books they’d read for English, like ‘Catcher In The Rye’ and ‘A Separate Peace’. On breezy afternoons, they used ice-cold cans of soda as paperweights; Steve’s homework often had a partial circle on the corner where the ring of condensation had dried. They ususally didn’t smoke or drink beer, since Mrs. Harrington was home more often than not and they didn’t want to push their luck.

Steve’s parents’ room was just down the hall from his own, so instead of Billy sneaking upstairs, Steve was usually the one who would tiptoe down to the basement, where he would lock the door and crawl into bed next to him. Steve just had to make sure he didn’t fall asleep; even though his mother was conveniently unobservant, he still didn’t want to risk her finding them in bed together. They usually didn’t do much sleeping on Billy’s sofa-bed, anyway. Most nights they didn’t go all the way; Billy preferred to see Steve moaning in pleasure than wincing in pain, so he usually only fucked him once or twice a week. The rest of the time they were content with cuddling, kissing, and blow jobs.

Neither of them really wanted to go to senior prom, since they wouldn’t be able to dance together without being stared at by everyone, so when Steve found out his parents would be out of town on prom night anyway, he volunteered to throw a small party of his own. He invited all the kids, of course, and also Nancy and Jonathan; Nancy had a great time helping with the music, decorations, punch (spiked for the older teens and unspiked for the younger ones) and hors d’oeuvres. Instead of uncomfortable rented tuxedos and puffy dresses, they wore regular party clothes. Best of all, Billy and Steve were able to dance together without anyone making a big deal about it; Max even managed to discreetly snap a photo of them slow-dancing, which Billy added to his growing collection of Polaroid pictures.

The Hawkins High Class of ’85 graduation ceremony was held in early June. Thanks to the alphabetic proximity of their surnames, Steve and Billy were seated next to each other, three rows from the front of the graduating class; they sat on folding chairs on the football field, sweating in their shiny polyester robes and silly hats. Billy could still remember the droning voice of the school principal, who had never returned the old Zippo lighter he had confiscated all those months ago.

_“William Hargrove… congratulations, young man…. Steven Harrington… congratulations, young man…”_

Only those standing in their immediate vicinity saw them embrace when the principal’s last words were spoken and their high school days were officially over; the people around them were too busy leaping up and down, cheering, and tossing their caps in the air to notice. Billy ignored them all and smiled as Steve wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him tightly.

They had spoken often about their plans for the summer: Steve still wanted to go to the parade in Chicago, and Billy wanted to go to Cedar Point in Ohio because he loved roller coasters. There were also concerts to go to, and the cabin on Lake Tippecanoe, of course. Billy thought he would find Indiana stiflingly dull, but that was before Steve.

_He could make anything better. Anything. I probably wouldn’t mind living in a damn swamp, or Death Valley, as long as I had Steve to help me pass the time._

Billy and Steve talked about almost everything, but they’d always skirted around the topic of what would happen to them when summer was over and it was time to start their adult lives. Billy had gotten a scholarship to UCLA, but wasn’t sure how to talk to Steve about it. For a while, he considered not going to California at all; if he could get into a good school like UCLA with minimal effort, he could certainly get into some college in Indianapolis. The most important thing, in his mind, was being able to see Steve. The thought of trying to maintain a long-distance relationship filled him with dread; he figured Steve would get all kinds of pressure from his parents to settle down with some nice rich girl, and might end up deciding he was better off without his complicated, Californian boyfriend.

“Come with me,” Billy blurted suddenly.

Steve stared blankly at Billy. “What?”

“You heard me.” Billy was a little proud of himself for finally summoning the courage to say what had been on his mind forever. “Come to California with me.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, looking pensively at the sherbet-like pink and orange hues of the sunset. “You mean it?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Billy repeated. “It took me seventeen years to find you, you think I’m gonna just ditch you in Hawkins for four years while I’m on the other side of the country? Not a chance.”

Steve scratched a mosquito bite on his arm. “What am I gonna do, sleep on the floor in your dorm room or something?”

“No, we’ll get jobs and rent an apartment. Make it work, somehow.” Billy wasn’t completely sure, but he thought he could see a tear glinting in the corner of Steve’s eye. “You okay?”

“Nothing… it’s stupid.” Steve rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. “I was just, uh… I was waiting for you to ask.”

_Christ, he’s so cute._

Billy leaned over and cupped Steve’s face in his hands, kissing the tip of his nose.

“I love you so fucking much, dude.”

“Yeah, I know, you big softie.” Steve shoved him away playfully and bit his lip self-consciously. “Love you, too.”

Billy suddenly rose to his feet and whooped loudly, chucking his empty beer can into the air and watching it slowly fall to the ground.

“I love you, Steve Harrington!” He yelled, as though hoping the whole town could hear him.

Steve snorted. “You and your grand gestures…”

“Get up and try it yourself, party pooper; it’s liberating.” Billy cupped his hands around his mouth and whooped again. “Fuck you, Hawkins! You can’t have Steve, ‘cause I’m taking him to Cali with me!”

“Okay, okay, jeez…” Laughing, Steve stood up next to him and shouted, “Hear that, Hawkins? Are you listening, you goddamn demogorgons and mind flayers? We’re through with your bullshit and we’re getting the hell outta here!”

“That’s the spirit.” Billy grinned and climbed up onto the middle railing, holding on with just one hand and using the other to stick his middle finger in the air, essentially flipping off the entire town. “Smell ya later, Hawkins!”

“Get down before you fall off and die, stooge,” Steve scolded, grabbing a fistful of Billy’s tank top and tugging him down from the railing.

Exhilarated, Billy swept Steve into a tight hug and spun him around, pinning him against the cool, white metal of the massive water tank and kissing him until they were both flushed and breathless.

“C’mon,” Steve mumbled, tugging Billy’s hand insistently. “Let’s go home.”

Billy went down the ladder first, with Steve following a few rungs above him. They descended cautiously, well aware that a fall from this height would likely result in broken bones or death. He couldn’t stop thinking about going to college in September and bringing Steve with him.

“You’re gonna love Cali, man.” Billy smiled to himself at the thought of showing his pretty boyfriend all the sights his hometown had to offer. “I can’t wait to show you everything.”

“You really missed it, huh?”

“Yeah,” Billy admitted, enjoying the pleasant burn in his biceps from carefully gripping the steel ladder rungs. “No offense to the midwest; I’ve met some _very_ cool people over here… namely, you.”

“Anything you miss in particular?”

“Oh, lots of things.” Billy was grateful for the way the mild nighttime breeze dried the sweat on his armpits and forehead; it was refreshing, but couldn’t possibly compare to the salty, cool air of the Pacific. “Great weed, the beach, tacos, avocados… we used to have an avocado tree in our yard, and made tons of guacamole every summer. We had a pomegranate tree, too.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had a pomegranate… or guacamole, either.”

Billy glanced up briefly, enjoying the view of Steve's long legs in those cute little shorts. “Well, we’re gonna change that.”

_Poor guy… trapped in this lame, meatloaf-and-potatoes town his whole life._

“So, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get back?” Steve asked conversationally when they were halfway down the narrow ladder. “Eat a bunch of guacamole and pomegranates?”

Billy grinned wickedly and licked his lips. “Not before I eat your ass…”

“Billy!” Steve admonished sharply. “I’m serious!”

"So am I," Billy laughed, picturing Steve’s exasperated expression. “First thing I wanna do when we get there is fuck you on the beach.”

“Only if you can promise that there won’t be a single grain of sand that ends up in my butt.”

Billy hadn’t even considered the possibility. “Well, I don’t know if I could guarantee—”

“Then forget it. You can have me in bed, like a civilized human being, or not at all.”

“Where’s your spirit of adventure, Stevie?”

“Oh, shut up. I’m plenty adventurous. Didn’t I just agree to try pomegranates and guaca-whatever?”

After hopping down from the last rung of the ladder at the base of the water tower, they walked back to the Camaro, which Billy had left in the high school parking lot. He remembered the first time he’d ever laid eyes on Steve, in that very same place. It felt silly, getting nostalgic over a large square of cracked asphalt, but he couldn’t help it; that was the effect Steve had on him.

_When did hanging around him turn me into such a cornball?_

“Hard to picture Max and all the others starting here in the fall,” Steve said as he opened the passenger door and sat down in the front seat. “Our old school.”

The sun had set, and it was getting dark quickly. Billy turned on the ignition and switched on the headlights. “Yeah, it makes me feel ancient. Time goes marching on, right?”

Steve leaned forward in his seat to switch on the radio, and cranked up the volume when he found ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ on the local pop station; no matter how many times he heard it, Steve never seemed to get tired of that song.

_“Won’t you come see about me? I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby…”_

The music reminded Billy of the time they had gone to see ‘The Breakfast Club’ together, when they were still in the awkwardly uncertain middle stage of their courtship, before they had gone all the way together or said that they loved each other.

_“Don’t you forget about me…”_

Billy had decided that Hawkins wasn’t such a shithole, after all, despite being full of assholes like Neil, Tommy, and those shitstains outside the movie theater. He didn’t even mind that, by all accounts, the town was host to both a scary government lab _and_ a sinister parallel dimension. It was where he met Steve, after all, so he couldn’t hate Hawkins. Not completely.

_“Will you walk on by? Come on, call my name. Will you call my name?”_

Steve’s voice returned Billy to the present moment. “Got something on your mind?”

Billy shrugged. “Not really… I was just thinking about how I might kinda miss this shithole when we’re gone.”

“Really?”

“Just a little,” Billy clarified hastily, hoping he didn’t sound too corny. “So there’s no need to quote me on that or anything.”

“We’ll come back, y’know. To visit Max and the kids and everyone else.”

Billy smirked. “We’ve gotta come back every once in a while to make sure the whole town hasn’t been slaughtered by those freaky aliens, right?”

“Jesus,” Steve chuckled uneasily. “I hadn’t thought of that, but now that you mention it…”

“That El chick will keep everyone safe. Use the laser-beams in her eyes to zap the bad guys.”

Steve laughed. “Once upon a time, I would’ve said that sounded crazy, but after everything I’ve seen, nothing surprises me anymore.”

Billy could feel his stomach gurgling; he hadn’t eaten since the late lunch they’d had before taking the kids to see ‘The Goonies’.

“I’m starving. What’re you in the mood for, babe?”

“Pizza,” Steve answered succinctly. “I want pepperoni. Oh, and buffalo wings.”

“Well, let’s go back to your place and order delivery… your parents are gone, right? We can feast after we fuck.”

Steve cleared his throat self-consciously and looked out the window.

Billy didn’t even have to look at him to know his cheeks were turning pink. “Do you still get shy when I say stuff like that, even after all this time?”

“Not really, it’s just…” Steve glanced over at him as he pulled Billy’s right hand onto his lap, resting it on the hard bulge in his chino shorts.

_Oh… why hello, there._

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Can you drive any faster?”

_Hell, yeah._

“Buckle up, pretty boy, and don’t cream your pants.” Billy licked his lips in anticipation and pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal, making the Camaro purr loudly as it zoomed down the streets of Loch Nora towards Steve’s house.

_Thank god his parents aren’t home; I’m gonna make him moan at a hundred decibels…_

Billy knew his immediate future contained mind-blowing sex followed by pizza and snuggling in front of the TV, but he was a little less certain about the more distant future. California, college, jobs, paying rent, finding a career… Billy couldn’t be completely sure how it would all pan out, but he wasn’t worried. He had Steve by his side, after all, and he knew they would figure everything out together.

The End.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic in November '17, way back when Harringrove was a fledgling fandom, so wrapping it up and moving on to a new project is making me hella emotional. Endings are always bittersweet, but this doesn’t have to be goodbye, lovely readers. If you like soulmates and A/B/O dynamics, I’ve started a new story called 'Mates' and I'd love it if you checked it out.


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